


The Prince And The Pauper

by Peasantaries



Series: Juvenile Delinquents [1]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Gymnastics, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Jealousy, Minor Injuries, Miscommunication, Multi, Mutual Pining, Olympics, Probably a lot of cliches, Self-Discovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-18
Updated: 2014-08-04
Packaged: 2017-12-08 20:57:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 40,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/765936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Peasantaries/pseuds/Peasantaries
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>"I think it might be good if you two tried to, hmm, how would you put this? Pair up?"</em>
</p><p>  <em>There's a beat of silence before Eames, ludicrously, starts to laugh.<em></em></em></p><p>[COMPLETE]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I've came to the slightly delayed realisation that I know nothing about gymnastics. I'm not a gymnast. I know nobody who is a gymnast. I have no prior gymnastic experience. 
> 
> So I have to apologise to any gymnasts reading this who are wondering what the hell I'm talking about. If any information you come across regarding gymnastics is wrong, please tell me. I did do some research, but that's about it. Again, apologies.

Arthur has always known he was different. 

And not in the 'spooky-supernatural-dark-and-brooding' way. 

He's just always known he's not an average, normal boy.

Arthur is five and performs in his primary school talent show; he sings and dances, and after, as he looks expectantly to his lovely aunt holding the video camera, she stares open mouthed and wide eyed that such a high-pitched voice had come from a boy and such elegant, gestural moves from a five year old.

Although he shouldn't be able to remember this, Arthur hears his aunt as she speaks with his mother by the drink stand. She leans in, places her hand softly atop her forearm, and whispers loud enough for him to know, "he's a special little boy." 

She smiles, if Arthur is not mistaken, sympathetically, and continues with, "he has a big future ahead of him."

His mother nods kindly with her knowing eyes, and its his only memory of her. 

Arthur is six, and he's taken on a day out with his aunt to the park. An older boy is up at the monkey bars, but he seems to have a fear of heights when he gets there, so he leaves, embarrassed, and decides to go bully a young chubby boy, and pushes him into the dirt to show off to his friends.

The boy looks so scared, tears glistening in his huge moon shaped eyes, and Arthur is instantly furious, emotions acting as his bravery.

He steps between the big teenager and the boy lying on the ground, and scrunches his face in a brave scowl, shouts, with stubby little fists, "Go pick on someone your own size, you big bully!"

Arthur, at seeing the height of the person towering over him, steps back, but doesn't back down. He is scared, but he has to do what's right.

"Why? What're you gonna do?" The nameless bully sneers, a rare, harsh expression for such a young person, even if he is still older.

"Well, that's a good question." Arthur says sweetly. "Since you can't even do the monkey bars." Arthur narrows his eyes exaggeratedly, as though that is the harshest insult known to man.

The bully's face floods with red, but he snorts, and spits out, "I bet you couldn't."

Arthur has a split second of doubt.

"How much." Arthur puffs out his chest, glad to distract the teenager, and sees the young chubby boy standing with his mother. He sees his aunt, standing smiling with a camera, light at the corner, and smiles back and turns toward the bully, glancing awkwardly with his friends.

"Eh...well if you can swing, I'll leave you and your friend alone. If not, I'll give you a wedgie." The bully says, his accent thickening.

"Fine." Arthur says shortly, and starts towards the monkey bars, climbs the rope to get up.

Once up, however, Arthur realises it is, in fact, quite high up.  
He can see the ice cream van, and all the mums, and prams, and a cafe and public toilets, and he looks back and sees the bully, and he stares at the boy for a moment, and the boy looks back, an indiscernible expression playing about his features.

Arthur straightens up, and walks forward towards the place where you fall and swing.

He jumps, and grabs the first one.

To start with, Arthur is sure he is going to fall. His sweaty palm make it near impossible to hold onto the bar and he flails for a moment.

So he grabs the next one with his spare hand in an act of pure desperation. And then the next.

Arthur is flying.

Arthur swings with ease, his legs sway as his hands make quick work of grabbing and pulling himself along. It's over too soon. Arthur hauls himself up at the other end, climbs down, and walks towards the bullies, heart racing still with adrenaline and smile breaking through.

He stands, and the older boy stares, lips parted softly, eyes wide in wonderment. He looks back to the monkey bars for a second before nodding stiffly to Arthur and leaving with his friends in tow.

Arthur runs over to his aunt, gushing about, 'I helped a little boy' and 'did you see that?'

Arthur's aunt assures him she's got it on video, and takes his hand and leads him over to the ice cream van.

Later on in the week his aunt takes him to a gymnastics centre for lessons because he won't stop talking, and from then on its history.

At six years old, Arthur becomes a gymnast. That is how he sees he is different from other boys.

############

Throughout the years, Arthur goes to the park alone every day, when its empty after school and the swings are wet with rain. Arthur loves the rain, and although it is rare in America, it turns the park from an ordinary playground into a dangerous playing field in which Arthur can put his abilities to the test. 

Arthur makes up new moves and unique exercises, laughs as the rain makes his hair stick back to his face and the ropes and the metal slippery and hard to grasp.

It becomes someplace akin to home, a better home than his real one anyways.

Arthur is six and joins a gymnastics club.  
He is soon put into the junior elite group, excelling in all apparatus' as well as floor. Arthur is a prodigy.

Arthur is about seven, and is woken up at night by a kerfuffle, and then his aunt coming into his room and taking him to his Aunts House where he soon falls asleep to nervous talking on the phone.  
In the morning Arthur is again woken by his aunt, and she places a hand upon his forearm just as she did his mother, and she tells him his parents have gone away, and he will live with her.

Arthur is confused and sleepy and asks why, and her face crumples oddly as if she has been struck and she says she doesn't know. Arthur asks when they will be coming back, and its then that his aunt begins to cry. It's the first time he has seen a grown up cry before, and he pats her arm awkwardly in an imitation of comfort he picked up from her. She laughs and cries and Arthur smiles and frowns, and after that the day is a blur of arrangements and talking and people visiting and flowers that make him sneeze and faces he doesn't recognise all looking at him. 

Arthur doesn't know his Aunts House well, so he escapes to the library - the room he likes best - and reads quietly and patiently until his aunt finds him eventually, and they sit in silence.

Arthur doesn't remember much from here, another blur of faces and black clothes and car drives and his aunt fixing his tie. He watches detachedly, as if he is very much seeing all this but not experiencing it. Arthur is a little boy and is confused and scared and rushed and away from his home and his bed and his mum and dad. 

Arthur is seven and his life takes an abrupt turn from boy to adult.  
He and his aunt move out of his Aunts House and into a cramped apartment, and the bed is lumpy and the fridge smells like pickles, but after a while Arthur begins to think of the place as His And His Aunts House. 

It's called 'public housing' and at night there are a lot of noises, and the brick walls are splattered with bright colourful writing, and the door into the apartment is chipped, but Arthur comes to love the place.

At twelve when Arthur starts school he is immediately bullied - for his glasses, for his ripped dirty uniform, for his background, for his house, for the fact that he wears a leotard. Arthur gets by as he always has, assures his aunt everything is fine.

At currently fourteen Arthur has plans. He works at the dinner as a waiter to help contribute for gymnastics, he has Ariadne whom he sits with in some classes and during lunch, and he has gymnastics.

Arthur can't really remember a time without gymnastics, -- Arthur has an outstanding memory, a couple of his parents, most of his aunt, and a startlingly clear one of when he swung the monkey bars for the first time -- and he can't see ahead to a future without it.

Arthur's life is gymnastics. Arthur's dream is The Olympics. 

At nearly sixteen, present time, Arthur doesn't realise fate had other plans.

Doesn't suspect such a thing called 'change', or more specifically -- because everybody loves specificity -- a boy named 'Eames.'


	2. Begin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the slow start, but I have to - er, set the setting, if you will?

Eames is, indeed, woken by his alarm clock. It's awfully cliche, but still rather relatable, so Eames is startled from sleep by the insistent shrill of his bedside clock. 

He ponders spitefully that he might just bin the alarm clock and swap for his iPhone, set some cheery song, but although Eames has only just woken up, he soon sees the error of his ways and the fact that that may even be worse than a bucket of water.

Eames compensates for flinging a hand out, grabbing the nearest object, curling his hand around the reassuring shape of a block, and flinging it so forcefully it sails across the air in a majestic arc before contacting with the wall and, after Eames hears the satisfying shatter, falls with a pitiful thump onto the carpet.

_Serves you right, you sodding cat, _Eames thinks smugly, and looks over to see the time. It reads 5:45.__

Eames is satisfied with this knowledge, turns back into the pillow, before it dawns on him, and he snaps his head up, and his digital clock flaunts the figures with pride and self-righteous, and he thinks in his sleep induced haze, that it actually smiles at him.

Eames realises, a little belatedly, that he won't be using his iPhone for a cheery song. His iPhone will never sing again.

Instead of a frantic panic, Eames blinks, raises his eyebrows, and sighs.

That is how the day starts.

You may even think it can't get any worse.

You would be wrong. And then you would promptly laugh.

~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Eames has many likes and dislikes.

Eames does indeed, like gymnastics. Eames likes the soft colourful shorts, and he likes the way his father asked him to sponsor the centre - as, you know, his father runs the largest corporation in America (please never ask Eames what they do, he wouldn't have an inkling) - but rather than doing what his father said - it's so much fun, you should try it! - he goes and joins the club instead.

What Eames mostly likes is the pommel horse. Eames has a connection, a talent, an _intimacy _with the pommel horse, - and no, not in the ~shhh!~ sexual way - because as he touches the worn leather with chalk-covered hands, Eames feels, for one undefinable moment, _free. _____

Soon Eames finds himself with a strange liking of gymnastics as a whole.

What he doesn't appreciate is the times. _I mean, is it strictly necessary, to train that early in the morning, ___Eames muses sulkily.

Another thing Eames doesn't like is Coach Cobb. Ah, Coach Cobb, where to begin? Coach Cobb is the very definition of marmite. Or pickles. Either way, Eames is sure that man is crazy. But Eames just just smiles along to his suggestions and laughs along with his truly bizarre jokes -- although that one time it wasn't a joke, and simultaneously the whole gym went silent just as Eanes let out a vivacious raunch of laughter. _Just _as everybody had ceased their conversations. Eames is pretty sure they think he's the one that's nuts.__

__The thing that Eames dislikes most is his father's distaste - or disgust - for his son having a hobby - but really its only because that hobby may just be a woman's sport._ _

__Eames dislikes the way that when he showed his father his - ace - breakdancing, he seemed to go a little pale and excused himself. Eames dislikes the way that when he told his father that he had a fear of heights, he has almost seemed _glad. _____

____Eames generally dislikes the way that when he was a teeny tiny sprog, and he had perfected the handstand, giggling at the blood rushing to his face, his father had told him to _get up, behave himself, and stop embarrassing him _.___ _ _ _

______Eames may or may not have cried in his room and hoped his mother may or may not have come and tucked him in, but she didn't, not once. After that Eames learned to seek his approval elsewhere, away from this parents mostly, and pretends gleeful enjoyment when his father had baulked and said, "You _joined _gymnastics?" And he had sighed as if he was giving up and said, "I've lost all will with you, Frederick." Ugh. First names. Why stand on something your parents gave you, is what Eames thinks.___ _ _ _ _ _

________Eames likes gymnastics, Eames adores the pommel horse, but he can tell he will never pursue this 'hobby' as a career choice.Not that Eames _needs _a career, he has favourable money and an endless list of contacts, but for all Eames is indulgent, he has a fierce dream to do something for himself, nothing to do with his family or their name or their wealth.___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________Really, Eames and avoidance are beautiful chums.  
Eames avoids the future because, blah, and he avoids his parents because, blah blah blah. It's really quite simple. _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________He knows his father imagined a preppy-golden-boy-smart-lawyer. Although Eames knows he is none of these things -- he may be book smart, but he is not math smart -- Eames is not going to waste his life proving himself for it to turn into bitter resentment in the end. Eames is not a logical, practical person, per se, but he can see that pretending will not help anyone._ _ _ _ _ _ _ ___

____I mean, _Eames thinks positively, _it's not as if I'm gay.______

 _ _ _ _ _ _ _Oh boy._______

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God, when are they gonna meet already? I know, I know, I actually wanted it to be this chapter, but don't blame me blame italics 'cause they wouldn't work! I have no idea how to do any of this, and I literally gave up in the end.
> 
> If I were you reading this I'd literally be so impatient -- I love to get straight to the action -- and I know this must be infuriating but I promise in the next chapter we will get to the good stuff. Scouts honour.


	3. And Then

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is - sort of - late, I have exams coming up (ugh) so I don't know when I'll be able to write more.
> 
> I will write more, though, guys.

Arthur's morning is, yet again, a blur of waking up in a rush, getting to the diner, running about with people's orders, and smiling so much his cheeks hurt.

Arthur does love his job, especially on saturdays, he loves the people you meet early in the morning, he loves the listening to other people's conversation, other people's lives. He loves to prospect of gymnastics at the end, his gym bag behind the counter.

But today, Arthur woke up late, which he _never _does. And the day starts in a fog of work and customers. Arthur swears life slows down as his aunt grows nearer the centre. He sighs softly as she turns into the parking lot.__

__He kisses his aunts cheek hurriedly, jumps out, and heads towards the changing rooms._ _

__As Arthur walks into the gym hall, though -- slightly harried -- Coach Cobb beckons him over. He hesitates, wondering if this is because he late, and starts making excuses in his head of weekends and illness, flicking through the possibilities, and he opens his mouth to say, but Coach beckons someone else over._ _

__That someone else comes bounding up, radiating energy and life, and Arthur has only just turned before he's firing, "What is it? Whats happened?"_ _

__Arthur moves his head to the side to study this person._ _

__He's greeted with possibly the most attractive person he has ever laid his slightly short-sighted eyes on. It's like a punch to his solar plexus, somewhere between his gut and his lungs. All the air escapes him in a rush, and the person glances to him, a quick uncaring flick of his eyes that tells Arthur he acknowledged him._ _

__Arthur turns his head away like a quick lightening bolt. He only saw the persons side, but it was enough.__ __

__Ripped white t-shirt, red shorts, that sunny, unblemished olive skin like holidays and youth, wide pink, lush lips, slightly sloping flat-bridged nose, stubble, cropped hair, crescent shaped eyes. Arthur just caught a flash of his face and bit of his clothes but he still feels his neck burn._ _

__"Arthur." Coach addresses, warm and nodding. Coach is always nice to Arthur, not in a way that picks favourites but in the way that he appreciates his effort, sees the potential. "Eames." Cobb continues, a little cautious.__

 _ _Arthur keeps his eyes trained in his slipper-shoes, trying not to focus too much at the obscure name, the flowing vowels._ _

__"I have an idea for the both of you's." When neither of them speak, Coach goes on.__

 _ _"I think it might be good if you two tried to, hmm, how would you put this? Pair up?"_ _

__Arthur's internal organs all jump on a carousel._ _

__There's a beat of silence before Eames, ludicrously, starts to laugh._ _

__He points a finger at Coach, shaking, and says deeply, British accent thick with a lilt of softness and a twang of cockney, "That was a good one." He sighs happily, "Really cheered me up." Then actually walks away.__ Walks. Away.

____Arthur and Cobb both stare at his retreating figure, dumbstruck._ _ _ _

____Coach makes a series of stuttering half sentences before he exhales harshly and calls Eames back again._ _ _ _

____Eames whips around, and Arthur now obtains a full-frontal view. Eames is stupidly, ridiculously, madly handsome, the roguishly sexy kind. Arthur abruptly feels foolish and sweaty and woefully, _painfully _aware of his skinny pale self.___ ___

Eames comes over again and Arthur wishes with a fervour that the feeling would just _go. Away. ___

________"Eames." Coach starts, "I'm being serious." Eames' smile falters, and he turns his lips inwards in a crooked line whilst frowning._ _ _ _____

________"Team bonding can be very helpful, to motivate yourself and for support. I know gymnastics is mostly an individual support, and I know you may object to this idea Arthur -- " Eames gives him a curious, calculating once over before going back to Coach.________

___Arthur wishes Coach had _not _just made him seem anti-social. " -- but I think you could help Eames --", Eames splutters indignantly, " -- and I've given this some thought, and I believe it would be beneficial for you both to work together."___ _ _

__________There's another lapse of silence._ _ _ _______

__________"Oh-kaahy." Eames says slowly, studying Coach. He looks like someone trying to slowly back away from a startled animal._ _ _ _______

__________"And what exactly are you.. proposing? Floor? Because, Coach, that's not exactly my, uh, field?"_ _ _ _______

__________" _Exactly. _" Coach repeats, and Eames simply looks confused. Arthur can relate.___________ _

"Arthur, you excel in every field apart from social skills." Arthur's cheek flame at those words, he is doing absolutely _fine _, that you very much, so he's not the most popular, so --__

______________"I think if you learned to communicate and work with other people it would help you a lot. And I know that may seem insulting, but Arthur, building up your confidence only comes with others, and I'm not saying you don't have the talent for the Olympics -- "______________

___Eames eyebrows had been gradually getting farther and farther up toward his hairline, from the corner of Arthurs eye, but now they're sky high, " -- Or the personality to be famous, but it would be an experience, working as two people and learning one another's body -- "_ _ _

__

______________"Woah, woah, woah, way-oah." Eames intercepts, hurriedly before Coach can go on, "I don't see _any _reason why I should be 'learning Arthurs body', so to speak." Eames finger-quotes, eyebrows so high his forehead folds painfully, eyes popping.___ _____________

________________Eames looks so exaggerated, emotions all splayed across his features like some young child. Arthur feels his whole face flush at the implications of Coach, but mostly of Eames' reaction ~ and him using his name but that was a small, small part._ _ _ _____________

________________"Eames." Coach huffs irritatedly. "You very well will be."_ _ _ _____________

________________Eames splutters and spits saliva over Coach's bright fleece. Coach waits patiently, arms crossed, until Eames finishes with his indignant chokes. Finally he manages, in the highest falsetto Arthur wouldn't think humanely possible, "Why?"________________

________________"Because." Coach says in the same frustrated tone, "You'll be doing lifts."_ _ _ _____________

________________############_ _ _ _____________

________________Eames day, as previous mentioned, did indeed, popular to belief, get worse._ _ _ _____________

________________It started off as Eames smashing his iPhone against a wall. Accidentally. He feels like he might be saying that a lot today._ _ _ _____________

________________Then he couldn't find his usual shirt he wears to gymnastics. Eames may be called predicable or boring, but he really does always wear that shirt. And when his lovely, soft, threadbare grey t shirt went missing, Eames has an inexplicable urge to hit something. He searched high and low, near and far, but thus his treasure was never found.  
(Eames is pretty sure his mum just put it in the wash.)_ _ _ _____________

________________So Eames, resorting to last measures, pulled out his old, ripped one from the dark depths of his chest of drawers. It smelt like moth balls and grandparents. Eames dragged it over his head. Still fit._ _ _ _____________

________________So Eames also dragged his hot piece of arse downstairs for breakfast. Sound simple? Evidently not. The toaster decides to pop it's clogs on him. It was a traumatic event. He's still suffering from the after-effects of shock._ _ _ _____________

________________"Oh, what have you done now?" His mum ambles in, and comes to fuss over the toaster. "That toaster was fine last night before you decided you'd come in here -- " he dared to come in to his own kitchen? The scoundrel, "And now its gone and mysteriously broken. I've told you so many times, how many times have I actually said this, you're too careless with things -- " Eames cringed. This lecture again._ _ _ _____________

________________So Eames was forced to endure his mothers very opinionated nagging as he sat in silence and quietly crunched on his toast. With the way his mum was going on, he should be expecting the police at his door any minute. It's not his fault that toaster was about forty years old. Or his iPhone felt like a clock._ _ _ _____________

________________It sounds bad right now, but the gods must be trying to tell him something, give him a sign, or just piss him off, because it only gets worse still when he manages to get out the door._ _ _ _____________

________________Thirdly, Eames misses his bus. He watches as it abandons him with a distinct pitiful expression, and he really does feel like going home if this is some sort of majestic sign.  
________________

___But Eames is not a quitter, even on Saturdays, so he straightens up and begins the treacherous, er, trek, to gymnastics. It's about twenty minutes. Every spiteful step is accompanied by the thoughts that he could be there already if the bus had just waited another five minutes._ _ _

__

________________Once Eames gets to the centre, normalcy sets in and Eames heads straight for the pommel horse once he's changed into his lucky shorts. He sighs a sigh of genuine happiness as he chalks his hands._ _ _ _____________

________________He's wrapping them up when he sees Coach wave a hand to get his attention._ _ _ _____________

_Shit _, Eames thinks. Eames, with the day he's having, half expects Coach to give him the news that his gran's been hit by a bus and his teacher was driving.__

__________________As highly improbable as that may be, really, Eames is just preparing for he worst._ _ _ _______________

__________________"What is it? What's happened?" Eames rushes. A boy is standing with him, pale skin and jutting bones. Eames only glances to him, interest in Coach's unusual calling him over._ _ _ _______________

__________________"Arthur." Coach says. _Why the hell is he prolonging this? What the hell is going on? _"Eames." _You know my name, goddammit!___ __________________

______________________"I think it would be good if you two, paired up?" Coach declares cheerily._ _ _ ___________________

______________________Eames' mind races through differant scenarios until Coach says those words. Eames can't help the relived laugh that escapes him. Only one of Coach's weird jokes! Of course!_ _ _ ___________________

______________________He's leaving when Coach calls him back. Coach _then _proceeds to tell Eames he was being serious. Eames is confused and disgruntled, and half listens as Coach goes on about team spirit and motivation, starts spouting about this Arthur guy as if he's some saint. Eames focus in on the boy. He looks about twelve.___ _____________________

________________________He has a sweet face, but Eames notices lines and crinkles etched around his eyes and forehead that gives away his youth, make him seem strangely experienced. He has a dark mop of inky hair that falls about annoyingly into his eyes as he studies the floor shyly. Eames wants to clip it all back, save this Arthur the bother that must be infuriating. It is rather annoying to watch it. Couldn't he simply --_ _ _ _____________________

________________________"--learn each others body--"_ _ _ _____________________

"Woah, woah, woah way-oah." Eames interrupts, hands up before Coach can go on anymore. Eames had missed most of the speech but he'd heard _that _clearly.__

"I don't see _any _reason why I should be 'learning Arthur's body' so to speak." Eames is panicking, very very panicking, _oh god, does Coach want him to corrupt this little boy? Oh my god, this is turning into one of the weirdest mornings--___

______________________________"You very well will be." Coach grits forcefully. Eames feels as if he's entered the twilight zone, maybe this is all a dream, a nightmare, he feels as if he may be having a panic attack, his head feels all light and fuzzy, he's pretty sure he just spat all over Coach, and all he manages to get out is a squeak of a, "Why?"_ _ _ ___________________________

______________________________"Because. You'll be doing lifts."_ _ _ ___________________________

______________________________Everything starts to make sense and spiral downwards simultaneously from then on._ _ _ ___________________________

______________________________~~~~~~~~~~~~~~_ _ _ ___________________________

______________________________"D'you shave your legs?" Is the first thing Eames says innocently to Arthur once Coach has left them with a mat and some basic instructions._ _ _ ___________________________

Arthur scrunches the sheet in his hands, he does _not _, thank you very much, and damn it, _everybody _asks him that.___ _

__________________________________"Noh." He replies shortly, studiously keeping his eyes downcast on the sheet, scanning through the positions that look like cheerleading exercises, not professional gymnastics. Dammit, again, what is Coach's aim with this?_ _ _ _______________________________

"Hmph." Eames replies casually, and Arthur is a stubborn guy, so no matter how _nice looking _Eames may be, Arthur is not going to be humiliated by some English snob.__

____________________________________"Oh? And, pray tell, what exactly does, 'hmph' imply?" Arthur raises his head and stares directly at Eames. Eames seems a little thrown by Arthur's confidence, and he sways his head backwards, eyes widening as if Arthur had just slapped him._ _ _ _________________________________

Arthur, for some undefinable reason, wants to hit something. Or Eames. He's just _standing _there, all charm and good looks and thinking he's oh so funny with his ( _un _)original jokes.  
Arthur might take teasing in school, but not in gymnastics.___ _

________________________________________"Blimey, was only asking." Eames says, and sighs heavily through his nose._ _ _ _____________________________________

________________________________________"Why?" Arthur snaps, feeling raw and on-edge for some reason._ _ _ _____________________________________

________________________________________"Cause, what? Just _curious. _" Eames replies loudly.___ _______________________________________

Arthur's annoyance only heightens, "And why, again, are you _curious _about my legs?" Arthur asks testily. Arthur feels unusually snappish, and he normally isn't.__

____________________________________________Eames flushes right to the tips of his ears, and Arthur has a moment of smug satisfaction before he says, "Well, I mean, it's, like...ladylike, somethin'." Eames mumbles, waving a hand about and frowning down at Arthur. Arthur's whole cheeks flame with a blood wine colour, he _feels _it flood his face, with a helpless speed and an uncontrollable force.___ ___________________________________________

______________________________________________He clenches his jaw and spits, so angry he's shaking, because this _Eames _seems to know how to push all if Arthurs buttons in the space of five minutes, "I am. _Not _. A girl."___ _______________________________________________

__________________________________________________Eames stares at Arthur, red-faced, shoulders hunched and hands curling slightly, ready for a fight, and he spits back, with equal fervour, " _I _. Did not say that."___ _________________________________________________

____________________________________________________Arthur's hand are white knuckled and gripping the paper so much so he's afraid he's ripped it. He slowly unfurls his fingers, one at a time, and the crinkling noise is deafening._ _ _ _________________________________________________

____________________________________________________Arthur feels put-out and sweaty and stifled, awkward and riled and he knows gymnastics is nearly over and he never even got a chance to train, so in a moment of madness, a glorious selfish moment, he shoves the crumpled paper into Eames chest, has one second of touching the solid muscle there, before he's bolting it, out the hall and into the bathroom._ _ _ _________________________________________________

____________________________________________________############_ _ _ _________________________________________________

____________________________________________________Eames watches Arthur small figure scramble out the gym hall as if a man on fire, with the sheet held loosely in one of his large palms._ _ _ _________________________________________________

____________________________________________________Coach ambles over, and Eames is abruptly furious for his idiotic shuffling, he's a grown man, for Christ's sake! Eames is hardly going to shoot him. "So, uh, what happened?" Coach asks with far too much casualness, and Eames knows he was listening, he just wants Eames to talk._ _ _ _________________________________________________

____________________________________________________"Baby Arthur ran away like a little girl exposed of her frock." Eames answers in a high pitched voice. God that guy annoys him. Both of them._ _ _ _________________________________________________

____________________________________________________Coach is silent, then asks, "Why?"_ _ _ _________________________________________________

____________________________________________________"Because I may or may not have been inquiring about his freakishly smooth legs." Eames says flatly, "I mean, all I said was -- "_ _ _ _________________________________________________

____________________________________________________"I think you'd better leave it for today. Try tomorrow." Coach tries gently, "I'll go see if Arthur's alri -- "_ _ _ _________________________________________________

____________________________________________________"Are you fucking kidding me? Oh what, is he having a bad day? Fuck this shit." Eames speaks unintentionally loud, and some people in the gym are staring, but Eames couldn't care less, and he storms towards the changing rooms, the opposite direction of Arthur._ _ _ _________________________________________________

____________________________________________________~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~_ _ _ _________________________________________________

____________________________________________________Arthur sits on the pan and glares at the toilet cubicle door. Arthur is not an irrational, impulsive person, but damn it all if this Eames isn't infuriating. _I mean, who does he think he is? _Arthur silently asks no-one, fuming.___ ___________________________________________________

______________________________________________________Arthur decides he hates him. And Coach. Coach and his stupid ideas for Arthur to 'communicate' and other unproductive, unpractical and pointless exercises. Arthur is doing absolutely fine, and, if he's not been mistaken, Olympic gymnastics is an _individual _sport.___ _____________________________________________________

________________________________________________________Arthur looks at the time on his phone. Gymnastics has five minutes left. Arthur sits and waits until the time runs out._ _ _ _____________________________________________________

________________________________________________________############_ _ _ _____________________________________________________

________________________________________________________Eames is packing up his things, about to leave through the side door, when movement through the open door to the gym catches his eye._ _ _ _____________________________________________________

________________________________________________________Eames sneaks out slowly, not knowing what to expect, when he sees a figure practising alone on the balance beam._ _ _ _____________________________________________________

________________________________________________________He ducks back jerkily, fearful that they've seen him, and slowly, hesitantly, moves forward until his eyes can see just past the doorframe._ _ _ _____________________________________________________

________________________________________________________Eames can make out Arthur's dark hair, tickling the tips of his ears, and his long svelte legs._ _ _ _____________________________________________________

________________________________________________________Eames feels a moment of irrational anger before he focuses on him._ _ _ _____________________________________________________

________________________________________________________Eames watches, enraptured, as Arthurs body arches on the balance beam as he does a couple of back walkover's. Arthurs ribs show painfully as his arms support his weight, legs bending at the knees, his left foot almost touching his nose. Arthur's shorts fall from his thighs, material folding at his pelvis, as he places his foot on the beam now, other leg straight in the air._ _ _ _____________________________________________________

________________________________________________________Arthur proceeds to push himself up and lands effortlessly on both feet, one before the other, arms outstretched. He does a faster one, warming up, and is halfway through a third before Eames interrupts._ _ _ _____________________________________________________

________________________________________________________"You look weird from that angle." He blurts out thoughtlessly as Arthurs thighs are split, shins falling at opposite angles._ _ _ _____________________________________________________

________________________________________________________Eames hoped Arthur might startle, or fall, or flail, or anything. He wants to get a reaction, _something _from him.___ _______________________________________________________

__________________________________________________________Arthur just glances up, foot swaying close to his face, and his bangs fall into his eyes. He blows them out, and the sail in the air before landing exactly were the were before._ _ _ _______________________________________________________

__________________________________________________________"You look pretty silly from this angle as well." Is his answer, and he tilts his head sideways, hair in a disarray, as if to convey his statement of silliness, and Eames' mouth twitches involuntarily._ _ _ _______________________________________________________

__________________________________________________________Arthur turns his gaze elsewhere, so Eames takes that as his que to leave._ _ _ _______________________________________________________

__________________________________________________________He stops, hestitates for only a moment, rucksack dangling, and says loudly, with a casual lift to his intonation, "I'm leaving."_ _ _ _______________________________________________________

__________________________________________________________Arthur doesn't look to him again as he replies, "That's nice."_ _ _ _______________________________________________________

__________________________________________________________Eames thinks he ought to be angry, but he isn't._ _ _ _______________________________________________________

__________________________________________________________Feeling wild and reckless after the day he's had, still half expecting to blink and he'll find his face smushed into a pillow, Eames spills out again, "Are you always this stuck up?"_ _ _ _______________________________________________________

__________________________________________________________Arthur arches a perfectly nonchalant brow, and even with his face pink with exertion and body twisted in a tangle of elegant limbs, it still manages to look right, to not look out of place._ _ _ _______________________________________________________

__________________________________________________________"Are you always this forward?" Is his calm, level reply._ _ _ _______________________________________________________

__________________________________________________________Eames huffs an exhale of a laugh, shoves a hand through his hair, catches at all the short sprinkling of strands, before shaking his head and saying, "Goodbye, Arthur." Smiling exasperatedly._ _ _ _______________________________________________________

__________________________________________________________Arthur's response is a half-hearted wave. By means of his foot. He actually goes so far as to wiggle his toes._ _ _ _______________________________________________________

__________________________________________________________Eames smiles, wide and careless, and even after his weird day, Eames is still smiling softly to himself as he walks home in the too harsh sun, still smiling quietly around his fork as he eats his microwaved dinner alone._ _ _ _______________________________________________________

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally! Hopefully the next chapter will be up shortly but studies are calling


	4. You're Something

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bickering little boys

"Right. Move over a bit."

"Why, this is fine."

"No it's not, I'll fall."

"We'll maybe if you actually put your other foot -- "

"We've been through this. I'm going to fall."

"And I've said before. Maybe if you tried."

"Eames."

"Arthur."

"Stop that."

"Stop what?"

"Doing -- my voice. I don't sound like that."

"Sound like what?"

"Sound -- like, patronising. I'm being reasonable. Your not in the right position."

"Arthur."

"Stop it."

_"Arthur." ___

__"I'm not moving."_ _

__"Neither am I."_ _

__"I'll tell Coach."_ _

__"Oh really? We've reverted to five year olds."_ _

__"Well, you're acting like one."_ _

__"Oh am I? Only, what I mean to ask is, what age are you?"_ _

__"I'm older than I look."_ _

__"What, older than me?"_ _

__"No. But still."_ _

__"Still what? Come on, now, your not so young you can't form full sentences."_ _

__"Oh ha. Ha. I'm crying. Really. You should look into comedy, you know; other career choices. Other. Career. Choices."_ _

__"Is that a threat Arthur? I don't think babies have the mental or physical capabilities."_ _

__"I don't think you have the time either, to sit and chat." Coach says calmly like some mysterious figure stepping through the mist, and both Eames and Arthur jerk, startled._ _

__"He wasn't going to--"_ _

__"No, actually I--"_ _

__"I caught the whole thing." Coach tells them. "Now if you two would stop squabbling and actually try, you might find this to be easier than your making it out to be." He says, and then he just stands there, and Arthur and Eames both stand there, awkwardly, glancing at Coach now and then._ _

__Coach waves a hand about noncommittally, widening his eyes as if to say, 'get a move on.'_ _

__Eames puts a hand out. Arthur lifts one foot and steps into Eames' outstretched palm in one fluid, practised motion. They both pause in uncertainty, only gotten this far, and Coach waits, staring intently. Eames squirms at the gaze and Arthur huffs in defeat, and concedes._ _

__So he lifts his other foot up, trying to imitate the picture lying on the ground, only Eames' hand wobbles and Arthurs foot in the air scrapes Eames' thigh and can't find leverage, and thats it._ _

__They're both tumbling toward the inevitable ground at an awkward angle, Arthur kicks Eames in the gut, Eames grapples at thin air, its almost slow motion flailing, and when Eames loses his footing that really is the last straw. The both collide with themselves then the ground, in a prolonged sort of nervously laughable manner._ _

__If you have acute hearing, and can also hear over the noise of cursing and gasping, the mat rustling and limbs conflicting, you may be able to notice the almost inaudible sighing in resignation of Coach Cobb._ _

__^^^^^^^^^^^_ _

__"Now, over to the left."_ _

__"This is the left."_ _

__"No it's not, that's the right."_ _

__"Well, maybe you think that because your upside down."_ _

__"Technically, I'm not, and I'd still know left from right even if I were."_ _

__"Was, Arthur, was."_ _

__"Oh, shut up, your just avoiding admittance."_ _

__"Admittance? Really? Quite a big word, well done you."_ _

__Arthur, even from the position aforementioned, still manages to glare at Eames. His nostrils are slightly flared. Eames shifts just to feel Arthur slip a little. It is intensely satisfying._ _

__"You're not allowed to do that."_ _

__"What?"_ _

__"You aren't allowed to -- to juggle me--"_ _

__"Who says? Do you just make up rules as you go--"_ _

__"No. Shut up. Stop laughing."_ _

__Eames pulls a shocked face, with his mouth open, that screams, 'who, me? Why would I?' But the fact that his mouth keeps quivering and his lips are upturned at the corner belies his expression of faux innocence._ _

__Arthur jumps down from Eames' shoulders and points a finger._ _

__"Eames, I swear to god, I'll--"_ _

__"What, pound me with your tiny fists until Coach comes and drags you screaming and kicking?"_ _

__"..."_ _

__Eames bursts out laughing._ _

__He can't help it. He takes one short look at Arthur furiously pink-cheeked, sweaty, flabbergasted face, and he splutters into helpless chuckles. Arthur's eyes flash a dangerous light, but Eames is too far gone. He bends over with the force of his mirth and shakes his head._ _

__Amongst his loud chuckling Eames begins to notice small accompanying titters, until the noise forms into fully fledged snickers. Eames looks up through bleary eyes to see Arthur frowning, smiling, trying to suppress laughter._ _

__Eames is set off more by Arthur's expression of pure discomfort and restraint, and he squeals slightly before Arthur gives in and then they're both laughing at absolutely nothing._ _

__Coach sidles up like some creep and asks, like the cat that ate the cream, "Can I get in on the joke?"_ _

Arthur screeches amidst laugher and shouts, a little to loudly, "God, Coach, just go, _coach _\--"_ _

__Eames laughs harder at that, and Arthur carries on, "--somebody and stop stalking us like some freaky--"_ _

__"Creep." Eames supplies helpfully, although strained due to chuckling._ _

__"Weirdo." Arthur adds cheerfully._ _

__"Creepy-freaky-weirdo." Eames combines._ _

__"Cr-cre--" Arthur tries, waving a hand near Coach, but he catches sight of Coach's utterly smug expression, and his laughter dies away._ _

__Eames stops laughing shortly after, and Arthur scowls at him before picking up the discarded sheet and looking at other positions. Eames sulkily ambles over to peer at the pictures._ _

__~~~~~~~~~~~~_ _

__"Oh my god, shut up."_ _

__"What? I'm not even doing anything."_ _

__"Yes you are, you're huffing, and its not woyt, it wayht."_ _

__"No, actually its fuck-off."_ _

__"Why are you still talking? Stop huffing."_ _

__"How am I huffing?"_ _

__"You're going like this; huuhgh."_ _

__"Wait, say that again?"_ _

__"You're doing this; huuhghglah."_ _

__"Sorry, I didn't quite catch that."_ _

__"Oh, haha, my sides are splitting. It's painful."_ _

__"Ahh, see what you did there."_ _

__"Eames. No."_ _

__Silence._ _

__"Hhhhhmm."_ _

__"..."_ _

__"Hhhmghmm."_ _

__"..."_ _

__"Hggghh-"_ _

__"Oh My God, shutthefuckup!"_ _

__~~~~~~~~~~~~_ _

__Arthur is. Arthur can't explain what he actually is right now. No word in the dictionary is strong enough._ _

__Eames is on a bathroom break. Using the toilet. Arthur is even furious about his bladder needs._ _

__Eames was attractive yesterday. Yeah, okay, good looking enough in Arthurs memory. By the time they'd finally got onto lifts, Eames is furiously, disgustingly, sickeningly handsome. The kind that you don't appreciate or admire or even salivate over, it's the type that leaves you fuming and awkward and sweaty and snappy._ _

__But, handsome is as handsome does._ _

__And Eames is a dick._ _

__It's half past seven in the morning and Arthur has school next and he's just came from a two hour shift and he needs a nap. He's justified in being snappy to an entirely too-good-looking-for-his-own-good arrogant jackass._ _

__Arthur whips out his phone from his pocket and checks his messages. Just auntie M. He replies speedily, thinks about texting Ariadne, but weighs that she might not even be awake yet. He tries to envy her, but Arthur is a morning person, and once he wakes up, he needs to be up and doing something, not just rolling about in bed._ _

__Arthur tries his wifi. He achieves a weak connection and, randomly, looks up paired gymnastics on his Internet. It's not helpful. Arthur glances about, rather suspiciously before, feeling reckless, types in the name Eames.__

__It loads slowly and Arthur bounces his leg until the screen flashes with various articles. Most of them are news articles. Arthur frowns until he catches the picture of an older man, with the same physical aspects but who looks nothing like Eames._ _

_  
_

__Arthur frowns again, trying to distinguish the headlines._ _

__"Whatcha dooooin?"_ _

__Arthur yelps and flails, phone flying out his hand, and he scrambles to catch it before it hits the wooden floor. He manages. Just._ _

__He swivels to glare at Eames; standing there, all ripped clothes and handsome amused face that softens and loses it sharp outlines in happiness. He tries, unconsciously, to compare that easy-going expression to the stone-faced, grim man on his Blackberry screen._ _

__"Well, that worked out better than I thought it would." Eames chirps._ _

__Arthur glares, glares, at Eames._ _

__"What. Was that for?" Arthur asks levelly._ _

__"You looked like you were watching porn." Eames says casually, "You probably frown when your watching porn." Eames concludes, then deliberates. "Actually, you probably frown during sex."_ _

__Arthur had been steadily turning an unattractive shade of purple, but he clenches his jaw in finality and stares Eames down._ _

Eames, realising he just thought aloud, widens his eyes and the tips of his ears flush a delicate colour of rose. Arthur resents, _re _-sents, that Eames cannot even look at least a little bit ugly, not even a smidgen._ _

__Arthur still glares at Eames, not directly meeting his eyes. Eames purses his lips at Arthurs knee, big palms splayed out across his hipbones. They both stay like that for an infinite amount of time until they realise everyone around them is packing up._ _

__Eames nods upwards, harshly, and walks off._ _

__Arthur wants him to trip -- more than he wants the Olympics, more than he wants to perfect the balance beam -- more than he's ever wanted anything in his life._ _

__##########_ _

__Eames is, relatively, a cheery guy._ _

__He is relatively popular, with, relatively, a lot of friends. Eames is also relatively smart, with relatively good grades. Eames is, by all means, relatively rich._ _

__So Eames is really rather at quite a loss on how a scrawny, anorexic, stuck up little boy manages to make him so-- so-- yes, Eames is simply at a loss._ _

Eames had walked into gymnastics, head held high, willing to work with this Arthur -- what a Victorian, boring, obnoxious name? -- and compromise by going to the centre tonight and practising on his -- _his _\-- pommel horse._ _

__Eames was even willing to give Arthur the benefit of the doubt. Maybe he was just nervous and lashed out on an innocent, defenceless Eames._ _

__But no. No, Arthur was just as --_ _

__Infuriating_ _

__Irritating_ _

__Snappish_ _

__Rude_ _

__Inconsiderate_ _

__Ignorant_ _

__Vicious_ _

__Insolent as he remembered. And Eames was the completely innocent party in this. Like the lamb to the slaughter._ _

Okay, so he may have _defended _himself, but who wouldn't?__

____Only that's the thing. Eames is notorious for being laid-back to the point of laziness. So why should an aforementioned skinny something year old affect him so viscerally?_ _ _ _

____Eames prides himself in detachment, in walking away from an argument before it gets to a screaming match. He feels some small amount of self-respect at his indifference, his ability to step down._ _ _ _

____Until today, as Eames is walking to the bus station to get to school, he realises, with a sharp zing of clarity, that he had actually argued back to Arthur. His heart had picked up pace, his blood had felt warmer underneath his skin, his words intended to actually frustrate Arthur. Eames had bickered, snipped, teased, whichever way you disguise it, he had argued with Arthur._ _ _ _

____This might not seem so monumentally huge for any normal person who's rude to their parents every day, but Eames has been brought up to ignore the press and their words meant for a reaction, a provoke. Eames has grown up with his expression carefully calm with just the faint bitter flavour of disinterest.____

___So that's why, as he nears the familiar sign, he is stunned to the point of actually stuttering in his steps before he catches himself and oh so casually begins at his normal pace again._ _ _

__  
_  
_

____Holy shit. Eames never argues with anyone. Not his dad, his mum, his grandparents, his little cousins, his cat, his fish, the TV remote, his shoelaces, nothing. Never._ _ _ _

____Eames doesn't really know what this means. He pins it down on Arthur being a remarkably infuriating person. Still. It's not a comforting thought. It's oddly unsettling._ _ _ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay! So I do try to write, I do, but exams are nipping at my heels and teachers are nagging at my earlobes so its proving pretty hard to type.
> 
>  
> 
> Don't worry guys, I'm a multi-tasker.


	5. This Here

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh My God, guys, I've been swamped. Literally. Okay not literally, but still. 
> 
> Anyhow, I want to apologise for your losing interest and my dispicable excuses, so let the show go on.

Arthur gets to school in record time, already before the first bell.

He meanders about, lingers at his locker and unpacks some of his bag; his lunch box, gym kit, some folders he won't use for the day. 

Arthur hates being this early; he's not particularly endorsed in his studies, and not particularly overflowing with friends either, so he literally has nothing to do until classes begin. 

He's so busy unpacking half the contents of his bag in a sad attempt to look busy and unbothered about his being alone, that when then bell rings he shuts his locker with fervour and feels a renewed lightness to his rucksack.

Arthur actually bounces a little as he walks to his first class, perking up. He makes plans for break, deciding on a muffin, and frowns as he deliberates about getting a cookie instead. Or a packet of crisps. Maybe something light. Arthur isn't particularly hungry. Or fussy.

Actually, how about just a bottle of water? Classes aren't too bad today, Arthur doesn't think he'll be too hungry, and anyways, he could always--

Shit.

Arthur was fishing about in his bag, sat in his usual biology seat, until he realises, amid his hand buried into his rucksack, that he had taken his biology folder out and thoughtlessly stuffed it into his locker. 

He curses softly, worries at the worn skin around his thumbnail, and prays Mr. Dunham is in a good mood today. Arthur really couldn't take the whole, 'exams are coming up, you'd better get more organised' speech in front of the whole class, especially since he doesn't talk to anyone in here, sitting way at the back.

He takes slow, uncertain steps up to the teachers desk, fiddling with the hem of his sweater vest, and Mr.Dunham doesn't turn from his computer screen, just gives Arthur a disinterested, "Hmm?"

"Well, sir, I've left my biology folder in my locker--"

Mr. Dunham swivels around in his chair with a particularly disgusted expression.

"Arthur, really? You're going to have to come to class more prepared, I mean what's next? Have you forgotten a pencil as well? To be perfectly honest, I don't know what youre going to do because we're working from the booklet today and I've no spare--"

"He can share with me."

Arthur is. Arthur really can't say. Its not fit for public consumption. He whips around and sure enough, Eames -- Eames -- is sitting right there, middle row, grin wide and inviting. Arthur blinks for a moment, disbelieving, until Mr. Dunham, sounding far away, says, "Ah yes, excellent idea, Fred, much appreciated."

Arthur splutters out a noise that can't actually be described as anything, really. It may be at a) Eames in his biology class -- looking as he is --and Arthur never even realising, b) Eames being not that much older than he make believes, c) the situation of having to share with Eames, and d) Eames name -- real name -- being Fred. _Fred. ___

__Eames cringes minutely at Mr. Dunham calling him that, but it's a flicker of a flame, a wisp of a momentary expression, before Eames' smile brightens again._ _

__Arthur feels himself blanch. How is this happening, after spending most of an hour bickering with him at gymnastics, that he has to spend another hour in his insufferable company?_ _

__Eames, fully aware of Arthur's feelings -- probably his motivation in the first place -- pats the seat next to him with his broad palm, twice, echoing in Arthur's ears._ _

__Arthur nods robotically, before going back to his seat, collecting his bag, and coming round to sit beside Eames. The class is filling up, everybody just getting unpacked, and no one seems to notice anything out of the ordinary._ _

__There's a moment of silence; an expectant, tense moment, before Arthur stage whispers, "You did that on purpose."_ _

__"What? I'm being perfectly nice." Eames replies simply, but the shit-eating grin he's failing to hide behind him shuffling in his bag belies his words._ _

__"Eames. What the fuck are you doing in this class?"_ _

__"Oh, right, yeah, I got moved down a year."_ _

__Arthur stares at Eames' happy face, stunned, and asks, "Why?"_ _

__Eames frowns, "Because I had to resist biology, obviously."_ _

__Arthur, shocked, still asks, "Why?"_ _

__"Because I failed it last year, come on Arthur, keep up." Eames frowns whilst shaking his head at Arthur, smiling, but Arthur is more curious about something else._ _

__"So what age are you, really?"_ _

__Eames frowns again, and answers, "Eh...nearly nineteen, why? What age are you?"_ _

__Arthur feels his skin prickle and he has no idea why, " _Nearly ____seventeen."_

____Eames snorts. "What?" Arthur cries a little too loudly, and Mr. Dunham gives him a warning glance._ _ _ _

____"Nothing, nothing, jus'...Really? Arthur, you can tell me the truth."_ _ _ _

____Arthur feels himself flush, feels heat pour to his cheeks, and he scowls at Eames' amused face before shouting, "I am telling the truth!"_ _ _ _

____"Right, answer to your names please." Mr. Dunham calls, whilst giving Arthur the stink eye._ _ _ _

____"I am sixteen, seventeen in June, believe it or not." Arthur whispers near Eames' shoulder._ _ _ _

____"Danny?"_ _ _ _

____"Here."_ _ _ _

____"Well, you do look about twelve." Eames whispers back, softy._ _ _ _

____"Thomas?"_ _ _ _

____"Here."_ _ _ _

____"Your just jealous cause you look about forty." Arthur spits._ _ _ _

____"Will-- right you two, quieten down over there."_ _ _ _

____Eames, amidst spluttering chuckles, clamps a hand over his mouth, wet leaking from the corners of his eyes._ _ _ _

____"William?"_ _ _ _

____"Here."_ _ _ _

____"Sophie?"_ _ _ _

____"Here."_ _ _ _

____Eames laughs silently, hand wavering where it feebly covers his mouth, and Arthur glares, but to no avail._ _ _ _

____"Its not even that funny."_ _ _ _

____Eames shakes his head helplessly, still laughing and flapping as if he's been physically winded by Arthur's words, so Arthur resorts to last measures._ _ _ _

____He picks up his pencil, lead sharp, and digs it into Eames' thigh. Hard._ _ _ _

____Eames shuts up with a snap of his mouth but manages not to yelp or cry, and Arthur congratulates him._ _ _ _

____"Arthur?"_ _ _ _

____"Here." Arthur answers, distracted._ _ _ _

____Arthur takes away his pencil and sets it innocently on the table. Eames glowers._ _ _ _

____"Jacob?"_ _ _ _

____"Here."_ _ _ _

____"That hurt."_ _ _ _

____"Good."_ _ _ _

____"Frederick?"_ _ _ _

____"Here." Eames replies gruffly, like tyres crunching over gravel, and Arthur, hearing his voice this close to his ear, shivers involuntarily, feels the sharp tingles run along his spine to fly across his shoulder blades and shake._ _ _ _

____Arthur snorts to distract himself. 'Eames' gives him a look._ _ _ _

____"So, what's up with the name?"_ _ _ _

____"Erm, well lets see, shall we? My parents, you know what they are, here's hoping, decided to give me a first name, scandalous as that may be--"_ _ _ _

____"Oh, defensive?" Arthur snickers quietly, turning his face to Eames' side, and Eames turns to look at Arthur as well._ _ _ _

____"Oh, shut up."_ _ _ _

____"So what's with Eames?"_ _ _ _

____"S'my second name."_ _ _ _

____"You call yourself by your surname?"_ _ _ _

____"Yes, first names, way too mainstream. I. Am an individual."_ _ _ _

____Arthur is close to Eames' face, too close, and he sees Eames' exaggerated expression of comical indifference, eyebrows raised, eyes closed almost asking to be judged._ _ _ _

____Arthur has a moment to see, to really see, Eames face. Eames, from a distance, has the type of features that just blend together harmoniously, all add together to make a perfectly round, positive number._ _ _ _

____Arthur had thought that Eames' face was too intimidatingly attractive to actually want to study, but this close, sitting in his biology class, in the harsh artificial light with Mr. Dunham calling out names on the register, Arthur is proved wrong._ _ _ _

____Eames' dirty blonde hair is fluffed up, an unkempt strand sitting precariously across his forehead. Arthur stares, struck still, at Eames' cheekbone, the soft hill of the skin stretched taut over it. Of the brown mole just at his temple, a splotch of dark colour. Eames' nose is a statuesque structure in and of itself. The slant is artful, the indent at the tip crooked endearingly, a smattering of pale freckles almost indiscernible._ _ _ _

____Arthur notices the downy hair lining his jaw, the matted scruff, the thin scar running through Eames' bushy eyebrow._ _ _ _

____Eames' lips are huge, open petals, silken as if the finest material. This close, Arthur can see the cracks were the delicate skin is peeling, plump and crinkled. Arthur wonders if they taste._ _ _ _

____Arthur realises, abruptly, that he had been studiously gazing at Eames' lips, so he quickly looks away to meet his eyes, and seems to get caught yet again._ _ _ _

____Eames is watching him with an indescribable light, as if he is not only reflecting the light in this room, but is radiating his very own light within his eyes. Eames' eyes are set aglow with it, his irises a murky herbal tea colour, a weak green, watery transparent. Arthur has never seen such bright eyes. Arthur stares, and Eames stares back, eyebrows slowly smoothing, jaw slacking, lines dissipating._ _ _ _

____Arthur can't really think with Eames' face so close to his._ _ _ _

____Arthur's heart pricks and starts clubbing, and he feels the ghost of a breath roll off Eames and onto his face, a small gust of warm air._ _ _ _

____"Right, page eighty two please, exercise nine point three, just work from your notes."_ _ _ _

____Mr. Dunham's voice shatters the moment, Arthur feels as though he's just came up from underwater with a strange rush, and Eames whips around in his chair to turn the page forcefully whilst Arthur scrambles and flails to open his jotter._ _ _ _

____Arthur feels mortification, the colour of bright raspberry sauce, creep up his neck, and he wishes with a fervour that it didn't feel like they were sitting right at he front, that it didn't feel like thirty pairs of eyes on him. Because it wasn't. Everybody was quietly doing their own work. But Eames isn't looking at him._ _ _ _

____Eames slides the book silently over so they both can see just at the same time that Arthur reaches out a hand to bring it closer, and their fingers skim._ _ _ _

____Arthurs feels something shivery and ticklish run along his arm to travel throughout his body. Something warm and dangerous settles in his stomach. Eames jerks back with a mumbled, "S'ry," and Arthur nods and starts writing._ _ _ _

____"Anyway." Eames tries, but his voice catches deeply and he clears his throat, and whispers again "Anyway, what's up with the name Arthur?"_ _ _ _

____Arthur, for some indescribable reason, feels a small surge of fondness for him._ _ _ _

____He peeks a glance to Eames, sees him studiously writing, shoulders tense, casually flicking his gaze to Arthur but Arthur can see his eyebrows are drawn._ _ _ _

____"What's wrong with my name?" Arthur asks with an indignant flourish of his head._ _ _ _

____Arthur sees the flicker of a smile grace Eames' mouth before its gone and he replies, "Nothing. I mean, bit old fashioned, that's all."_ _ _ _

____Arthur smiles a real smile, genuine and happy, and he doesn't even know why, because Eames is insulting him._ _ _ _

____"Take it up with my parents." Arthur says._ _ _ _

____Eames chuckles softly, only for Arthur's ears, but reins it back in, and says, "Well they must've been Victorian."_ _ _ _

____Arthur doesn't know he is so happy at Eames blatantly teasing him, but he smiles so wide he thinks it might rip his face in two._ _ _ _

____Eames snickers quietly until he turns to Arthur again. Arthur, childishly, sticks out his tongue, but its distorted and wobbly because of his smiling._ _ _ _

____Eames lifts a pointed finger and pokes Arthur right in the check. Arthur reels back, and pokes Eames on the forehead as well with his own index finger._ _ _ _

____Eames brings his hand up again and literally stabs Arthur in the cheek, right at his smile. Arthur, just because he can, stabs right back in the corner of Eames eye. Eames throws his head back, clutching at his chest melodramatically as if he's been shot, and Arthur giggles, rather huskily, until Eames comes bouncing back with a jab to the chest. Arthur makes a surprised, hollow oomph, but regains himself. The stare at each other, fighting grins, so Arthur decides to up his game._ _ _ _

____Arthur grabs the sharp pencil on his desk and points it towards Eames. Eames makes an '0' shape with his mouth, before deviously grinning and purposely picking up his pen. Arthur's heart starts again, adrenaline pumping, so he swishes his pencil at Eames face, bluffing, only Eames, misjudging, pens a stripe down Arthur's face._ _ _ _

____Arthur makes a shocked, dramatic gasp before, almost on impulse, takes Eames' hand and turns the pen to draw a line across his cheek._ _ _ _

_____"Ohhh-ho." _Eames drawls, and lifts his hand.__ _ _ _ _

______"What is going on he--right. You two. Outside. Now."_ _ _ _ _ _

______Arthur and Eames look at each other, just managing not to burst out laughing. Arthur feels as though he's five years old. The whole class are watching in rapt fascination, and Arthur can't even bring himself to care. The skin around the blue ink across Eames' face is reddening, the flesh sensitive, and Arthur has a split second of absurdity where he believes that Eames must be the most beautiful thing Arthur has ever seen._ _ _ _ _ _

______Arthur and Eames walk out guiltily, heads hanging, as Mr. Dunham closes the door with a soft click._ _ _ _ _ _

______"I'm not going to shout, Jesus it's been a long day." Mr. Dunham sighs, "Arthur, Fred, that behaviour back there was unacceptable and childish. You wouldn't find primary kids having pen fights, especially when they have exams coming up and need to be studying as much as they can. Fred, I would expect you to be trying harder seeing you've got a lot to catch up on in this subject. I'm sure you can do it, your clever, but blatantly not bothering, and I don't think your parents would be very happy. I expect to be seeing a change in your attitude, Fred. You can go."_ _ _ _ _ _

______Eames nods, nods like he has been throughout the whole rant. He turns to go, grinning sneakily at Arthur as he turns his back to Mr. Dunham, and holds the door with two fingers for Arthur._ _ _ _ _ _

______Arthur turns to go as well, but Mr. Dunham holds him fast._ _ _ _ _ _

______"Not you Arthur, I'd like to have a word alone."_ _ _ _ _ _

______Arthur looks to Eames, who shrugs and leaves._ _ _ _ _ _

______"Arthur." Mr. Dunham says, in a softer, calmer tone. "Now I know how it is, making friends."_ _ _ _ _ _

______Arthur opens his mouth to object, but Mr. Dunham holds out a gentle palm._ _ _ _ _ _

______"I know--I know, how it is. Arthur, I know you were only trying to impress him, and that 'Mr. Eames' has quite the reputation. But I expected better of you."_ _ _ _ _ _

______Arthur looks away from the intensity of Mr. Dunham's gaze, staring at the door handle._ _ _ _ _ _

______"It's hard, 'fitting in' and all, and when the opportunity arises to be friends with someone, you grab it with both hands. But what you don't do, Arthur, is let it distract you from your work. Your studies are what you should be focusing on right now, and I want to get that through to you." Mr. Dunham speaks lowly._ _ _ _ _ _

______"However." Mr. Dunham pauses and gives Arthur a sympathetic expression, "I will allow you to sit with Fred, if, if, you improve your and his behaviour. M'kay Arthur?"_ _ _ _ _ _

______Mr. Dunham bends his head to catch Arthur's eyes, so Arthur just nods silently._ _ _ _ _ _

______"Okay, Arthur?"_ _ _ _ _ _

______"Yeah--yeah, sure, fine." Arthur hurries impatiently, making his way to the door._ _ _ _ _ _

______Mr. Dunham stops his a-bloody-gain and says a-bloody-gain, "I know what it's like. Arthur."_ _ _ _ _ _

______Arthur is severely tempted to just retort, 'yeah, cool, that's nice'. But Mr. Dunham lets him go and they both shuffle in. The whole class is a riot, throwing things and turned to a 90 degree angle just to talk to one another. Arthur sees Eames roll his eyes at him in between writing._ _ _ _ _ _

______Arthur starts grinning to him almost unconsciously, and goes to sit over at the desk._ _ _ _ _ _

______"Wad he want?" Eames asks casually._ _ _ _ _ _

______"Lecture." Arthur says generically._ _ _ _ _ _

______Eames sighs and says, "I know. I mean he keeps calling me Fred even when I fucking told him its Eames."_ _ _ _ _ _

______Arthur starts to giggle until he can't really stop, and Eames continues._ _ _ _ _ _

______"Cause I was like, 'Its Eames' and he was all, 'I think I'll stick with Fred' and I was like, 'Sir, everybody just calls me Eames' but he was just like, 'Well, you call me Gerry, and I'll call you Fred'--" Arthur is laughing so hard he has to burrow in head into his arms on the desk._ _ _ _ _ _

______"--and I felt like just saying, 'fucks sake, I don't want to call you Gerry, all I want is for you to call me bloody Eames--" Arthur squeals a muffled sort of noise into his inner elbow._ _ _ _ _ _

______"And I mean its not even my name anyway." Eames finishes and they both smother their laugher into the desk._ _ _ _ _ _

______Once the calm down to contented sighs, Arthur has to ask, "What even is your name then?"_ _ _ _ _ _

______Eames' eyes are crinkled and wet and sparkling. "It's Frederick." Eames answers, voice deep and gruff like a confession, and it sets Arthur off again._ _ _ _ _ _

______By the time Arthur comes down, Eames is smiling at him for no apparent reason._ _ _ _ _ _

______"You know, you're pretty cool Arthur."_ _ _ _ _ _

______Arthur's breath hitches on an after-laugh and he frowns and smiles before he replies, "You're pretty cool, too."_ _ _ _ _ _

______Arthur thinks this must be what making friends feels like, but he wonders about Mr. Dunham's definition if friends._ _ _ _ _ _

______Wonders if Mr. Dunham's definition involves making your heart pick up speed, means that your face flushes when they come too close, or your eyes linger on their lips for just a moment too long to be anything friendly._ _ _ _ _ _

______Wonders if friends bicker so that it makes your blood boil and your chest heave, wonders if friends are supposed to be attractive to you, yet so funny and ignorant and wicked and charming and devious and quick-witted so much so that it fascinates you._ _ _ _ _ _

______Arthur doesn't think that what he feels toward or for Eames is anything a friend normally feels. Mr. Dunham has nothing to worry about._ _ _ _ _ _

______###########_ _ _ _ _ _

______Eames is, quite frankly, scared._ _ _ _ _ _

______He has no idea why he just said to Arthur, 'hey, come over and meet the group at lunch'. No. Bloody. Idea._ _ _ _ _ _

______Eames thinks, distantly, that it might have been the fact that Arthur was smiling and when Arthur smiles he manages to simultaneously look about ten years younger whilst making a strange proud feeling radiate from Eames himself._ _ _ _ _ _

______But Eames knows, with distinct clarity, that this won't end well. Arthur will come up and be silent and fine but then one of the guys will be a dick and Eames will lose the tentative friendship he gained with Arthur in one period and it will be back to bickering. Eames, for a reason unbeknownst to him at this particular point, thinks that the tentative friendship he's struck up with Arthur is the most important thing in his life right now, like it means something._ _ _ _ _ _

______Eames seems to have discovered in one hour that Arthur is not a bad person but an actual human being with flesh and whatnot, that is smart and funny and smiles and laughs and has dimples and quick retorts and lovely, vivid brown eyes._ _ _ _ _ _

______Eames had always thought brown eyes were plain and boring, but close up Arthurs eyes were remarkable. Arthur didn't just have 'flecks' or 'speckled irises'._ _ _ _ _ _

______Arthur's eyes appear to have holes in them, like air bubbles in his iris. They're rich dark, not a simple brown, but an earthy, dirt undertone, lighter toward the pupil like the sun. They--_ _ _ _ _ _

______Eames suddenly realises he's been daydreaming about Arthur's eyes and focuses on conversation starters for when he kind them at lunch.--_ _ _ _ _ _

______The bell shrieks as if cracking up at him._ _ _ _ _ _

______Eames jumps and hurriedly packs up his things. He then realises he actually didn't tell Arthur where to meet him. He knows, logically, that the whole school knows that him and the group just sit at the tables so Arthur must know this but what if he doesn't and thinks Eames is just a dick telling him to come to lunch when he actually doesn't know where the hell 'lunch' is--_ _ _ _ _ _

______Breathe._ _ _ _ _ _

______He proceeds to pack up his things and walk to the lunch tables._ _ _ _ _ _

______As usual, an empty seat awaits and Eames slides in casually as you do and involves himself into the conversation as slick as hair gel. That doesn't stop him from scanning the tips of people's heads, however._ _ _ _ _ _

______Sure enough, Eames notices the familiar -- strangely enough after only a week -- mop of black scruff, and what even is this, Harry Potter? -- and he raises himself up in his seat. Arthur is standing in the queue, worrying his fingernails with a definite crease between his forehead._ _ _ _ _ _

______Eames raises himself up on the chair and waves him over, as subtly as he can do. He sees some people turn to see whom he is calling, not so subtly. Arthur manages to look more worried as he scurries up and hovers about Eames' shoulder._ _ _ _ _ _

______"Guys." Eames says and everybody stops talking. "This is Arthur. He's the year below, but we have gymnastics together."_ _ _ _ _ _

______The guys just stare in wonder for a moment, before Rick just says, pointing and smiling, "Arthur, theres a seat right here." And Eames breathes a sigh of relief that his short and somewhat blank explanation was obviously enough for them, especially Rick. Rick, Eames would have to say, was one of his closest friends, but his psychic and near telekinetic powers about Eames is frankly scary._ _ _ _ _ _

______It didn't occur to Eames that maybe it was a bad thing for him to be sitting right next to Arthur then, but Eames was away to get his lunch, panic over._ _ _ _ _ _

______~~~_ _ _ _ _ _

______When Eames comes back, he catches the end of the conversation, and begins to panic._ _ _ _ _ _

______"Oh my god, I've could've killed him." Rick finishes with, and Eames starts freaking out Rick why why Rick why._ _ _ _ _ _

______The whole group burst out laughing and Eames worries more is the laugher at his expense or with fondness or--_ _ _ _ _ _

______"Wow, that's hilarious." Eames buts in and everyone stares shocked before bursting into another round of laugher._ _ _ _ _ _

______It's really not as funny when you don't get the joke._ _ _ _ _ _

______(Eames is too busy glaring the what-have-you-done glare to Rick to notice everyone laughing, anyway.)_ _ _ _ _ _

______"Was jus' telling them when you invited me to your dads party to keep you company, but then just disappeared. I was stuck talking to this lawyer for like half an hour, talking about socio economics, really made me feel special."_ _ _ _ _ _

______Eames grins despite himself and sits down quickly. He smiles as someone else starts talking and unwraps his baguette._ _ _ _ _ _

______It's not until the baguette is halfway to his mouth that he realises the reason he was glaring at Rick and snaps his gaze to where Arthur was sitting. Eames is greeted with the empty tabletop and another crowd a little way away. It's empty. Arthur's gone._ _ _ _ _ _

______Eames' hand sags in the air midway to his mouth, and drops back down. He's suddenly not hungry._ _ _ _ _ _


	6. Okay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh! This took quite a bit to write, and then italicics. 
> 
> Italics, italicics, where to begin.  
> Lets just say I could---*****

Eames is fiddling about with his bag next to his locker, trying to get out the damn keys, when Rick slides up oh-so-casual, and Eames wants to laugh. 

(He thinks that if Arthur were here he might laugh with him about the uncanny resemblance to Coach. But, nevertheless.)

"Soooooh." Rick drawls, leaning one shoulder sideways against the small door, arms folded.

"Mph." Eames grumbles distractedly.

"Arrrrthur." Rick draws out, and Eames flicks his eyes up unaffectedly for a moment before going back to his searching.

"Crazy kid, that...kid." 

Eames huffs, sets his bag down on the floor, and stares at Rick. Rick stares back, level. Eames huffs again, then asks "Waddayouwant."

Rick raises one eyebrow, before tearing his gaze away to opposite direction, still leaning, and purses his lips. "Oh, nothing, just curious, if you knew."

Rick always knows the way to get to Eames. Well, two can play.

"Hmmm?" Eames bends down to keep searching, waiting.

"That he's gay." Rick dead pans, and Eames flails and splutters.

"Whatt?!" Eames croaks and Rick's lips wobble trying to fight his smile.

"Yup." Rick says with a pop, and Eames is suddenly furious.

"Okay, so how did you, fall victim to this, enlightening information?" He flourishes.

Rick snorts. "Wow. You don't disappoint with reactions."

"Whatever. Go away. I'm walking home."

Eames is really, really just about to give up looking for his motherfucking locker keys. He keeps searching anyway, movement becoming jerky in his impatience. He thinks Rick must've left, but a soft voice from above that has him jumping slashes his hopes.

"You can kinda just tell Eames."

Eames snorts unattractively, a harsh derisive sound. "Really? Really? Well I must be missing something, cause--"

Ricks holds up his hands, one fisted. "Look, Eames, you're clearly not listening. I'm just trying to say."

Eames stands up, cramp in his leg, and shoulders on his backpack.

"Rick, you've known the guy for all of thirty minutes and you're telling me, whose known him for a week, that he's gay?" Eames says simply.

Rick raises his eyebrows again and shrugs, shoulders coming up dramatically high and staying there.

"Dunno. Gut feeling. Instinct." Rick pats his stomach.

He smiles a small, knowing smile, and says, "Or it might be the fact that during lunch, when we were all talking, he suddenly just gets up and starts sprinting away."

Eames doesn't smile. 

"What? Why'd he run away? Did you say something about gay people?" Eames asks distractedly, thoughts whirling, unhappy lines creasing his forehead.

"Nope!" Rick abruptly shouts, and throws something with an upward motion at Eames. Reflexively, Eames catches the flying object instantly, arms coming up and both hands curling around the cold metal. "Rick?! Did you say something?"

"Why don't you tell me!" Rick starts walking backwards, grinning like a loon, "Thought he was your new best friend?" 

He does that thing again with his shoulders where they stay, arms out, palms facing the ceiling.

Rick turns his back to Eames and shouts, one hand in the air for him to see, still walking away, "Oh! And I want an invite to the week-iversary!"

Eames can see his smile through the back of his head, burning through his skull.

Eames stares at his back, stunned, before looking down at the object in his palm. 

The familiar London telephone keychain glints in the fading afternoon sunlight, a blood red. His locker keys.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"So, Arthur, how d'you know Eames?"

Arthur stares stunned at -- Nick? Before answering, "I, uh , gym, just gymnastics." He stutters.

Nick stares for a moment and Arthur feels oddly bare before replying, "Yeah, he mentioned something about someone, are you his partner -- thingy then?" Nick gestures vaguely and Arthur nods an affirmation.

"Yeah, yeah." Arthur repeats lamely and flushes helplessly at the scrutiny of all the people here.

"Uh-oh." Nick jokes and Arthur is worried he's done something until Nick continues, "Poor guy, if I were any good at that, I rather not be seen frolicking with Eames, God."

Arthur laughs nervously, and sinks into the background as the others start to talk.

"Wait, d'you remember that one time, at Rick's party, Eames tried to see how many marshmallows he could for in his mou--"

"OhmyGod he was actually frothing, and trying not to laugh, and we were all just jumping out the way as he spewed bits--"

"He wasn't giving up, he kept going, and it was all coming out--"

"Member later, when he threw up in the sink--"

"My parents could've killed me! That wasn't washing away--"

"And we were all just staring as it clumped about the plug--"

"Uuugh!--"

"And Eames was like, 'it was your idea!'"

"Aha, I know!"

"God that was hilarious."

The group break out into collective laugher and Arthur feels suddenly stifled, he feels like the elephant in the room, feels idiotic and left out, and idiotic for feeling left out.

Arthur doesn't really know why, but he slowly gets up, and slips away. He pushes himself between some people to disguise himself if the group look up, but it doesn't extinguish the fantom paranoid feeling of eyes on his back.

Arthur feels silly, utterly and ridiculously silly. Arthur knows, rationally, that it was completely pointless to feel upset by the fact that Eames isn't a mean person. No. Eames had to be good and great and nice and wonderful. Arthur knows its silly. But it's a helpless lost feeling that has Arthur hurt in a way he can't exactly explain, because Arthur has no part in Eames' life and that shouldn't be quite so stabbing.

Arthur bumps into somebody in his rush to just get out and makes a half hearted attempt at an apology before flying up some stairs and away away away.

It's not until he's actually on the first floor that he realises he's at the head masters bit. Arthur walks along the hallway until he passes the oratory, and stops for a second.

Arthur smiles.

He slips in quietly

The door closes with a soft sound and with it shuts out all noise. Arthur is deadly silent as he walks on the carpet, feeling oddly as if he is underwater, but not the type when he was with Eames, hyperaware, it just feels as though his head is blocked and his body warm and fuzzy.

Arthur turns and starts walking along the side, hand skimming the walls. He passes a golden plate on the wall and reads.

_In Loving Memory of_  
Emma Chapman  
&  
William Chapman

_May the angels be with you. ___

__Arthur studies the words, touches the tips of his fingers to the engraved letters. He can hear his own breathing. It sounds wheezy and rhythmic._ _

__Arthur keeps walking and passes a little crucifix with a hanging Jesus. Arthur touches that too, lightly brushes the thorn crown and the miniature hands with the small nails dug into the palms._ _

__He feels calm._ _

__Arthur keeps walking. He passes some random posters;_ _

_SCIAF charity,_  
Mary's Meals,  
Signs of Depression,  
Could you be living with Bowel Cancer?  
Flu; it could be You. 

Arthur stands for a minute and breathes. He feels like he could just fall asleep, after his morning shift and gymnastics and biology and Rick and Eames and life. 

He hears the bell in the hallway and sighs. 

Arthur experiences a strange, out of body experience between the time he opens the door and is outside. He opens the door and still feels warmth and silence, but when he gets out noise blares at him from all angles, and as he pulls the door closed he hears the air whoosh past the heavy soundproof door like a person moving through water. 

_############_

____When Eames gets home, slamming the door behind him with his ankle, the whole place is silent._ _ _ _

____Eames throws his backpack and jacket onto the couch, flings of his shoes, and paddles into the kitchen on socked feet._ _ _ _

____There's a piece of ripped off paper stuck to the fridge by some blue tack._ _ _ _

____Eames un-sticks the note, peels off the blue tack and presses it back into the little wad on the kitchen counter. Eames is walking back into the living room as he reads._ _ _ _

_Out_  
Dinner in the fridge.  
Feed the cat. 

______Eames frowns and stops in his walking. He clicks his tongue against his teeth a couple of times and sure enough, Colonel comes skipping in out of nowhere._ _ _ _ _ _

______Eames bends down again as Colonel saunters up to him. Eames cards his fingers through the fine hair on top of his head._ _ _ _ _ _

______"Just me and you, mate." Eames tells him and Colonel butts his head against Eames' knee in sympathy._ _ _ _ _ _

______Eames' (cracked) phone buzzes and he pulls it out his pocket and crosses his legs on the floor. He can just about make out what it says._ _ _ _ _ _

_New text_  
Hannah  
Hey! Party tonight, come? My place, 8 __

________Eames' thumb hovers over the reply option before randomly flicking it over to the rug. He sighs at Colonel._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"Nah." Eames scrunches his nose up and idly scratches at the tip._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Colonel huffs. Eames grabs his small feline head between his hands and makes smooching noises and kisses the soft fur exaggeratedly. Colonel squirms and fidgets before breaking free and sprinting out the room._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Eames sits on the floor for a moment. "Charming!" He calls after him. He rolls his eyes, gets up and plops down on the couch, simultaneously reaching for the remote. The fishes through channels before jumping up again and heading to the stairs to get changed._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Eames pulls loose his tie whilst ripping off his pants and puts on jeans and a sweat shirt. Eames feels sticky and confined so he switches to another pair of three quarter length khaki trousers. They feel hot and uncomfortable around his waist and too tight too warm._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Eames gives up, tears off his t-shirt and his trousers and stands in the middle of his room in his boxers with clothes strewn about the place. Eames feels bubbling energy sizzle within him and he feels the need for a jog._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________He huffs, and walks over to his chest of drawers. He pulls out his gym shorts and his training top. Eames decides fuck-it-all and goes commando. He stares desolately at his pig sty of a room before rushing down the stairs again._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Eames checks the fridge. A block of cheese, butter, a bottle of water, a carton of orange juice and a plate of cling-filmed tuna salad._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"Charming." Eames mutters again, eyes squinting. He's not even hungry anyway. Eames opts for the water, shoves on his trainers and heads out the door._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Once he starts running its fast-paced and jerky, unsettled and agitated, but Eames soon adjusts into a rhythm and feels the calming patter of his feet and the gentle swing of his arms. He has no clue where he's going._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Eames can feel that restless energy slowly build to be something he can work with, something that gives him stamina._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________He turns down the familiar road and looks for the sign and yep-- he's ran to the centre._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Eames wonders if they'll let him in._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"Oh, Eames!" Karen The Receptionist cheers when she sees him._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"Ehr, yeah, can I, uh, use the equipment? Is anyone -- "_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"No, no its fine, go right on in." She nods enthusiastically, waving to the corridor._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Eames stretches his mouth in a closed lip smile, eyebrows high, and ducks into the hallway._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________The corridor is empty. Eames has never seen it so quiet. He knows most clubs start at six and seven and training is mostly mornings, so the place should be quiet. But right now its isolated._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Something catches Eames' attention right off guard. The soft sound of music? Eames doesn't recognise it, its melodious and tinkling.________

 _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _He follows his ears and walks a little quicker. The drum beats are evident now, the song building momentum.________

 _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_I have more dreams than you have posters of your favorite teams _,  
_You'll never talk me out of this___

An electric guitar starts. Eames is bouncing down the hallway. He doesn't recognise this part of the centre, its filled with posters and pictures and rooms with glass windows and mirrors. The music is becoming clearer.

_ _______

Eames catches up to the room right at the bottom and looks through the glass window. The music is coming from speakers. Eames cranes his neck to see somebody dancing.  


____________Eames' eyes pop out his skull._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________The music turns from singing to a howling, the soft tinkling again with the electric guitar._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________Arthur is ballet dancing. He does an arabesque, a flowing movement like a bow, leg in the air, and spins in a pirouette to the music, shifts to a fouetté. Arthur leg kicks out in a whipping motion and he twirls, twirls with it extended, arms a perfect basket and his body a watery blur of liquid movement._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________Arthur's pace runs slow, and his leg flicks backwards, thigh twisting and toes expertly pointed toward his back. Eames eyes are caught in rapture, following his figure as he moves. Arthur is wearing a simple plain worn t-shirt tucked into blue track shorts._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________Eames can be open in his thoughts, in his mind, and he thinks right now, that Arthur must be the loveliest, most beautiful thing he has even seen._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________Arthur slows again, spinning leisurely._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________The music calms down to just tinkling.

______________Eames' eyes are warm and stinging for some unknown reason._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________Suddenly Arthur flies through the air, both legs parting and extending to jump once, twice just as the music crashes again with momentum, the drum beating to the uneven static rhythm in Eames' chest._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_Get your cannons ready, light the wick_  
_It will take more than an argument to change my mind_  
_So why keep try _  
_Keep trying, and you will never talk me out of it _____

________________Arthur whirls to the soft howling of the music, back arching, toes perfectly bent, arms coming above his head._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________The electric guitar picks up and Arthur still twirls. He twirls and twirls and Eames loses count and his head becomes dizzy but he can't tear his eyes away and the streaming waterfall of motion. Arthur is a bird. Arthur's legs are wings. He's inhuman._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________The song is ending. Something cold falls on to Eames' cheek. Eames blinks and realises belatedly that he's crying. The wetness is tears. Eames ducks back from the window and scrubs at his eyes, scowling in confusion._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________His heart is battering against his rib cage like a wild animal trying to free itself from its cage. Eames knows that wasn't just dancing. That was spiritual. That was -- something. Indescribable._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________Eames hears shuffling in the room and nearly trips over his own two feet to get away. Eames is fast. Especially when he need to be._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________He flies around the corner with no finesse, flies down this corridor then the next then this winding hallway he can't remember and he feels hopelessly lost until finally, finally he's at the reception area and Karen frowns at him and he waves hurriedly before running out the automatic doors and out the parking lot and away from the centre until he's just running down the street in the opposite direction of his house and he forgot his water where exactly did he put it doesn't matter doesn't matter._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________~~~~~~~~~~~~_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________When Arthur gets in its late and he feels so much better he's humming to himself._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________"Auntie Mallory!?" He calls whilst hanging up his coat and setting down his school bag._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________His aunt comes in and smiles fondly at him. "Out again? Your at that centre at the time!" She scolds halfheartedly but comes around to take his bag at ruffle his hair. Arthur grins cheekily and sighs, "I think I'll just skip dinner, I'm beat." He jokes and makes a move to go upstairs, sagging._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________His aunt laughs and Arthur leans against the railing for support._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________"Mu--I mean A--" Arthur hurries to correct himself but his aunt smiles a sadder smile again, comes up and holds his face in her hands._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________"Arthur." She whispers, "It's okay. I am your mum, and Emma would be happy about that." She says._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________Arthur feels his eyes prick, whether with exhaustion or --._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________His aunt presses a soft kiss to his temple where the vein is throbbing. Arthur inhales sharply, smiles a wobbly smile, and rushes up the stairs._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________He changes into his baggy pyjama bottoms and sweat shirt because he literally is exhausted and falls down on the couch next to his aunt._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________Arthur listens distantly to the TV and blinks once._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________Arthur slowly flutters open his stuck eyelids to a blue darkness and his aunt covering him in an itchy blanket and smoothing down his hair. Arthur closes his eyes again._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________#_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________Arthur is in gymnastics, pulling on his training top in the changing rooms, when Eames bursts in, flinging the door open._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________"Arthur, you need to come with me." He says, rushed._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________Arthur takes off his top, left in just his shorts, and follows._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________Eames smiles as well, and takes off his own shirt. He walks over to Arthur._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________"Arthur, we have to hurry. The wall's are cracked." Eames reaches out and grabs Arthur's hand in his. He drags him out of the changing room and into the coridoor._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________Something wet splashes at Arthur's bare feet. He looks down to see the hallway has flooded. As they walk the water rises to Arthurs ankles. It's warm, sea salt water._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________Eames tugs him slightly. The water flows up to Arthur's shins just below his knees._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________They reach the gym finally and Eames pulls the doors open with his other hand. The gym is totally underwater, but the water just sits there, air bubbles dancing and the water floating as if in space._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________The water in the hallway rises abruptly to Arthur's waist. Arthur pulls back on Eames hand._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________"It's too deep." Arthur says, panicky._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________Eames stops walking, turns to face him and takes both of Arthur's hands in his._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________"This is why it's happening. You need to trust me." He starts walking backwards, easing Arthur with him._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________Eames slowly takes one step after the other, guiding Arthur with him._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________Eames puts one foot in the gym. Suddenly he pulls Arthur right in and they tumble into the room but don't fall._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________Eames glides in mid-air, legs dangling, still holding onto Arthur. They both fly to the centre of the room as if they're in space, and air bubbles pass by. Arthur's body feels warm and his ears are blocked, lightheaded, but the can breathe._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________Eames' hair wafts upwards and floats above his head, waving sideways. His eyes are trained on Arthur. They seem surreally bright in the water, glowing a light sea colour. Arthur can see everything crystal clear, nothing is murky._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________Eames pulls Arthur closer still, until they're dancing about each other._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________"Do you believe in magic?" Eames whispers quietly, and it echoes hollowly as if a song._ _ _ _____________

_____________________________A crow distantly caws, a harsh cry. Arthur looks up to see the bird circle the air above the water, a dark shadow._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _____________

_____________

________________It caws again, as if a warning._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________Arthur stares. Eames turns to him and his smile softens and melts slightly._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________Eames pulls Arthur again until their bare chests are grazing._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________Arthur sighs._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________Eames' nose brushes Arthurs._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________Arthur's lips part._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________Their mouths meet._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________Arthur wakes up with a half-gasp._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_____________

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arthur ballet =  
> Youth Lagoon - Cannons.
> 
> Dream = M83 - Wait.


	7. You Know I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhhhhhh! This took so long to write, and its so long, and its a mess, but I had to update soon.  
> So sorry again for the time this took, I've just been so busy, I know I know, poor excuse *tut tut tut*

Arthur throws his gym bag under the counter, rips off the apron on the hanger and speedily ties it around his waist.

"Sorry, sorry!" He yells at his boss glaring at him through the kitchen, holds his hands up and lifts the plates to rush round the diner.

Late.

A little while after he's cleaning a glass tumbler with a dishrag when he looks up and just observes the whole place.

There's an old man with a straggly beard slumped in the bar stool, sipping whiskey. Alcoholic. There's a middle aged woman cramming toast into her mouth whilst reading the paper simultaneously. Single mum.

Arthur surveys more people; fat people, drunk people, dirty clothed people, young people, couples, workaholics, children, babies. The place is bustling with activity. Arthur's run off his feet with orders and smiles finely veiled as flirting for tips.

Arthur works at the diner Friday, Saturday and Sunday mornings, 4 till 6. Then there's gymnastics from 6 till 9, although on the days he's not working its 5 till 9. 25 hours of training in a week. It's probably more because of the fact that Arthur actually goes to the centre alone and practises.

He knows its a huge commitment, he knows his life revolves around gymnastics and its why he's such a loner, but its the requirements of actually obtaining a career in this field.

He sighs, slows in his cleaning, and contemplates that weird-- dream he had last night. Nightmare? Dream.

He'd awoke with a start, it was that vivid. It blurs around the edges and is hazy in some parts but Arthur can still remember the fact that it starred Eames. Possibly just because he's -- begrudgingly -- attracted to him.

Arthur contemplates on getting a dream journal.

His shift ends in twenty minutes and then he's got gymnastics for another three hours. Then there's school. His feet probably aren't touching the ground

His bike is outside because its a nice day today, and he thinks that he could make it to the stationary store and buy and notebook in the time between less he forgets.

##########

Eames really isn't hungry. He bumbles about the kitchen and is tempted just to have a smoothie, but he recognises the fact that 'skipping breakfast is not healthy' and he's learned from gymnastics the need for energy, so he begrudgingly pours himself some bran flakes fruit thing and adds the milk sulkily.

"Oh, your cheery today!" His mother practically yells in his ear. Eames startles and thwacks about.

He looks down at himself despairingly. Milk. Everywhere. All down the front of his pyjama t-shirt and bottoms. He looks over to his mother, bustling about the kitchen, uncaring to Eames' internal conflict.

"Mum. Mum." Eames says.

His mum looks over his shoulder and frowns.

"Frederick, clean yourself up." She scolds.

Eames is abruptly furious.

"Mum, you made me spill the milk." He says hotly.

"Just get a towel." His mum continues, not listening.

"No." He states.

His mum stops. "No? Why?"

Eames sets the milk carton down harshly, and clambers upstairs for a shower, leaving the whole mess and his mothers spluttering behind.

He scrubs at his hair angrily until the the stream loosens the knots in his back, lets the water wash away the stench of milk and his bad mood, soaps his skin all over until its squeaking. He comes out feeling refreshed and calmer.

He towels his hair whilst dragging on clothes over his still damp skin. The sun blinds him from his bedroom window, sets his curtains alight. He dresses quickly and runs downstairs, decides fuck it all and grabs some smoothie before slamming the door on his mothers still indignant calls.

He's early. He sits at the bus stop quietly, absorbing the sunshine, before hopping on the bus to gymnastics.

He sticks in his earbuds, leans his temple against the cool glass pane, and watches the city go by.

Then he catches sight of Arthur.

The bus stops at the traffic lights and Eames watches a small figure fly through the streets on a bike, mop of hair smushed underneath a helmet, until he identifies Arthur and feels irrational adrenaline spike up in his chest, makes his heart slam into his chest so much that he can almost feel it throb underneath his skin visibly.

Can he never catch a bloody break?

He'd tried to forget about Arthur, just ignore the weird feeling, but the way his heart is striking against his ribcage tells him he didn't do a very good job. Christ, what is wrong with him?

Arthur skids and flies past pedestrians, agile legs flexing evidently even from this distance, and he goes to cross the road.

Cross the road?

Eames watches curiously as Arthur expertly dodges cars and people as he crosses over to the shops.

Eames is leaning in his seat, neck craned to the opposite side as he watches Arthur skid to a halt, secure his bike to a lamppost, and jump into a nearby stationary shop.

The bus starts with a puff and a jolt. Eames' earbud slips out, the other dangling precariously as he stares, lips parted, even as the bus is moving and out of sight of Arthur's thin black bicycle.

Something jars him in the ribs.

"Hey, man, did I miss something?" The something -- someone -- smiles and Eames registers a cocky grin and patchy stubble.

"Eh." Eames answers, glancing about.

"I said, Did I Miss Something, back there?" He points a thumb backwards.

"Eh."

"Hot chick? Unicorn? Flying pigs?"

"Eh."

The bus slows again, and Eames realises this is his stop.

He pulls out his wallet in his front pocket and throws a five dollar bill at the guy, because its the only thing his parents taught him to do when strangers start speaking randomly at you.

He rushes up, grabbing his rucksack and walking down to the open double doors.

"Hey thanks man! You're secrets safe with me, whatever the hell it is?!" The guy shouts, waving the money in the air like a flag.

Eames feels a warmth flood his chest at the genuine gratitude.

His parents always tell him to ignore people on the streets/bus/subway and to just make a quick and efficient exit if in dire situations.

But right now he smiles, raises a hand to his forehead and salutes the crazy guy dramatically, receiving a reciprocated, if not a toothy, one in return.

He jumps out with a slight spring in his step, and the sun welcomes cheerily. Eames' smile is intact all the way to the centre.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Arthur buys the cheapest one in the store.

It's small, plain blue polka dot A3. Not really 'dream journal' material, but Arthur never really has dreams anyway and it was just a spur of the moment idea.

No point buying the twenty dollar embroidered leather-bound novel- worthy notebook if its not going to be used. Leave that to the actual writers.

He pays at the counter, stuffs it into his gym bag, unlocks his bike and heads to the centre. The sun is collecting sweat at the nape of his neck and its itchy and hot. The helmet plasters his hair to his forehead like wallpaper paste and he's heaving by the time he gets to gymnastics.

Arthur hooks his bike up again and rushes into gymnastics, but stops at the vending machine to buy water. There's only lucozade sport. Empty sugars. Arthur sighs, weighs his thirst, and decides on the orange flavour. He taps his foot impatiently as the coins clink until finally the juice bottle falls.

Arthur picks it up quickly and makes his way to the changing rooms. He would kill for a shower but he doesn't have any towels. Arthur sighs again, the sigh of the greatly put upon.

When Arthur comes out in his track shorts and t-shirt, he enters the gym to more bustling activity. He locates Eames stretching his arms over his head, warming up, and feels his face flush for no reason related to the heat.

He comes up and rocks on his heels behind Eames.

Eames bends down to touch his toes, t-shirt riding up to expose the flat expanse of skin on his back, only he places both hands splayed on the floor and bounces upwards to balance on his toes. He then pushes up on his hands and lifts his toes so that his feet are off the floor. He parts his legs wider in the air, and Arthur coughs significantly.

Eames looks underneath his legs to smile at Arthur upside-down.  
"Op, didn't see you there!" He crosses his eyes over and Arthur's lips tug.

He puts his feet back on the floor and stands, turning to face Arthur and clapping his hands together.

"Right, you ready?" He asks, perfectly coloured cheeks. His forearms bulge lightly, not overtly muscular but still prominent and soft-looking, strong, safe.

Arthur blinks out of his misty daze with the jarring memory of the dream. Arthur sees the dream in third person now, he can see himself and Eames floating.

"Well?" Eames gestures about in a wordless question.

Arthur nods and Eames hands him the sheet. Arthur scans the pictures until Eames, coming in way too close, shuffles over to show Arthur the one they could try today.

Eames places the tip of his finger to the picture of the figure on their back, holding the person up with their feet, and the other figure with their back arched, balancing on the persons soles. The figures are holding hands.

It short-circuits in Arthur's mind, holding hands, holding hands.

Maybe not in the sense of 'holding', but still, the person on the ground has their arms up to support the other, and they're-- yeah, holding hands.

"I know that one seems rather hard, but we've been getting better." Eames reasons.

Arthur is silent, eyes unmoving and stuck on the sheet as he feels the warmth of Eames' body roll off him in waves, the harsh exhales every few seconds.

"Mm-hm." He agrees ineloquently.

"Right." Eames says shortly, grabbing the sheet and throwing it away on the floor.

He goes to lie on the ground, but Arthur just stands there. He feels all bent out of shape today, sweaty and unfocused and can't seem to shake that stupid dream.

"Arthur? For Gods sake, I won't drop you, would you just trust me on this one?" Eames' slightly pissed voice jars Arthur out of his thoughts.

But Eames' words send a splash of déjà-vu ice cold water down Arthur's spine. He startles and whips his head to Eames who is sitting on the mat, limbs all splayed out, and he tells himself Eames, can't, can't, know, but it doesn't alter the sudden colour to his face. Damn, damn, pale skin.

"Arthur?"

"Sorry, can I just pop to the loo?" Arthur asks casually.

Eames bursts out laughing.

"What was that?" He asks just an octave higher than normal.

"What?" Arthur asks, frowning.

"Oh, deary, mind if I just pop to the loo?" Eames impersonates in an old lady english accent, smile evident in his voice.

Arthur feels an unwilling tug to the corner of his own mouth, but he just scowls harder and says, "Fine then, I need to relieve my bladder, that do?" Arthur says sweetly.

Eames wails. Arthur rolls his eyes at Eames easy humour, and leaves for the toilets.

He dabs cold water on his flushed cheeks, stares at his reflection glaringly.

"Right. Calm down. Just a dream. Was just a dream." He says incoherently. He shakes his head harshly as if the memory might just fall out of his head. The heat of place isn't helping to calm Arthur down either way.

He comes out and Eames is waiting in the hallway, back against the wall. Arthur nearly has a heart attack.

He recollects his breathing, glares at Eames and starts making his way towards the gym.

"Ar-thur." Eames says in a put-on deep and foreboding voice.

"Hm?" Arthur asks shortly, still walking.

"Do yoooouh believe in...mahgic?" Eames drawls darkly, whispering the last part like a secret.

Arthur is sure he could've achieved whiplash the way he swivels his whole body to face Eames.

"You--excuse me?!" Arthur shrieks, heart hammering blood he can taste it at the back of his throat.

Eames looks mildly shocked. "What?" He asks, hands weakly cupping the poster on the wall. Arthur's eyes flick quickly to it.  
_______________________________

Do YOU believe in MAGIC

Read your daily horoscope  
HERE  
And discover  
Your true destiny.

Email:  
dailyhoroscape@gmail.com  
______________________________

Arthur feels instantly stupid.

Of course, of course, that's where it's from. Arthur must've walked past that poster about a million times and felt the derisive urge to roll his eyes about a million times. Of course that would stick in his head. Of course Eames wasn't some otherworldly inhuman being.

Right now all Eames does is move both his hands in sideways motions to illustrate to Arthur his point. He frowns at Arthur worriedly, obviously about his unexpected outburst, but Arthur just huffs, runs a hand through his hair distractedly and makes his way back into the gym hall.

"Guessing you're not a believer?" Eames asks feebly from behind him.

Arthur ignores him in favour of walking over to the mats and picking up the discarded sheet. He studies the pictures again feverishly, not really looking.

"Phew. Roasting." Eames huffs and scratches at his temple.

Arthur should have seen it coming. He really should have.

Eames takes off his t-shirt.

He arches his back and stretches upwards and yet Arthur is oblivious. It's not until he's actually-- pulling off his t-shirt, that the warning bells chime.

Eames takes off his t-shirt.

He rips it off fully and is left, chest bare and exposed. Arthur is so stunned he just gapes mutely at Eames' subtle olive skin, sinewy muscles rippling like water, small nipples soft and flushed in the heat and impossibly-- impossibly-- delectable.

Eames' nipples were a dusky brown and Arthur would be very much obliged to flick his tongue against them and capture them between his teeth. He's never thought something so explicit before.

Arthur eyes are saucers as he watches Eames chuck his top away, his abdomen muscles curving on his flat belly, sharp indents making themselves known.

Eames has taken off his t-shirt.

He isn't typically burly or brawny, he's agile and lithe and everything Arthur's imagination couldn't fill in. His skin is sun-warm, ignited like the greek god Apollo, a washed ecru. Arthur is sure to be having more dreams in future of the adult variety.

Eames' shorts fall slightly without the top for leverage, his splintery hipbones peeking through. His broad shoulders bunch, collar bones shifting lightly. Fine downy hair glints in the sunlight where it matts his chest, ribcage hollow and jagged.

Arthur can't look away. He wants to look away, but he literally can't.

Eames turns to him now his t-shirt has been discarded. It took only a handful of seconds and yet all these thoughts whir through Arthur's head.

"Ugh." He grunts, walking over to Arthur.

To stand next to Arthur.

To be near Arthur.

Half naked.

With Arthur.

Eames takes the sheet from Arthur's numb fingers, utterly oblivious, and scans them again before saying, "Right, you ready?" And actually getting into position.

To lie on the floor.

Shirtless.

Waiting for Arthur.

Arthur's brain has short-circuited to simple sentences and words. He feels a heat slowly build, creep up his neck like weeds and overgrown plants.

"You look like your boiling, why don't you just take off your shirt?" Eames asks patiently.

Arthur flushes harder. "N-no, I'm-it's fine." Arthur stutters and feels more colour rise due to his incoherence.

Eames stands up and walks closer. "Why? You scared?" Eames grins.

"Of course not, I'm just content with my, eh, top on." Arthur replies.

"Come on, what's the big deal, just take off your shirt."

"No."

"Just take it off."

"No, Eames--"

"Are you insecure? Arthur, you're obviously too warm."

"I'm fine. Eames. I'm not taking off my t-shirt." Arthur says firmly, and almost involuntarily places a hand to the hem of his shirt.

"Everybody's got their shirt off. Just take off your shirt." Eames reasons simply.

Arthur looks about the gym. All the guys have their shirts off practising vault or other apparatuses.

Eames raises his eyebrows expectantly but Arthur steels himself and straightens his shoulders.

"Arthur." Eames teases, edging closer.

"Eames." Arthur says in a warning voice, edging backwards.

"Come ohhhn." He drawls, hands outstretched towards Arthur as if he'll physically take it off.

"Ea-heh-Eames." Arthur voice hitches, giggling nervously, unwilling laughter bubbling out of him as if he's already felt the impact of Eames' dexterous hands.

Eames grins wider, eyes twinkling.

Something hits Arthur's back. The wall. It only heightens Arthur's anticipation. Arthur is smiling so hard he's afraid it might split his face in two.

"Eames, I-huh-m being seh-rious." Arthur's laughter ruins the effect of his threat.

"So am I." Eames takes another step closer, curling his fingers in and out in fast motions, wiggling as if to illustrate the future torture.

Arthur giggles again. He doesn't know whether its the fact that he's about to be tickled - something he's never experienced before - or the fact that Eames is stalking him with a predatory glean sparkling in his eyes.

Arthur decides to chance it and run around Eames to the hallway doors. He bounces off the wall and makes it a couple of paces but Eames sees what he's doing and instantly catches him around the waist.

The first touch of Eames' rough hands on Arthur's sensitive clothed skin sends Arthur in a frenzy, pleasure shoots up his spine as his heartbeat turns uneven and jumpy.

He screeches and flails but Eames is too fast, he's already grabbing at Arthur's t-shirt, pulling him in and running his fingers deftly up and down Arthur's sides, flowing just the calloused pads along his belly and ribcages.

Arthur practically screams, thrashing and bucking away from Eames' hold, but Eames bunches up Arthurs shirt and tickles the bare flesh on his sides, just brushing his fingernails and skating them quickly over Arthur's skin.

"No-- plea-- ahhahahahahha!" Arthur screeches hysterically, twisting and crying and shaking apart.

"Are you, ticklish?" Eames asks suspiciously, as if the display before him isn't enough, voice warm and smooth and chuckling, fingers still moving.

"Ah-nh-nuh--look!" Arthur screeches and Eames actually turns his head just enough for Arthur to disentangle himself and run, run, sprint, lunge across the room and fly towards the doors, rip them open.

Eames is at his heels and it only serves to excite him more, the fantom feeling of hands as well as the very real warmth at his back has a pathetic yelp escaping him and he gets out the doors just fast enough to throw them partially closed behind him.

Eames is stronger and Arthur abandons the idea of locking Eames out in favour of running for his life.

Eames' footfalls echo behind him and he's laughing and running by the time Eames catches hold of the back of Arthur's shirt and drags him in.

"Oh, meh-mercy, have mercy!" Arthur wails humorously, shrieking with laughter as Eames digs all his fingers deep into the grooves of Arthur's sides, wobbling them into his ribs.

Arthur decides to fight back, weaving a hand underneath Eames arm and imitating him by wiggling his fingers in the flesh of Eames' armpit.

"Wha--he-hey!" Eames giggles hysterically and squirms away, whacking them both into the wall.

Eames regains his composure and pushes Arthur against the hallway, tickling viciously now, hands everywhere and all at the same time.

Arthur thrashes and writhes, arching his back but Eames is merciless, cruelly curling his fingers in and out and Arthur cries, wet leaking from the edges of his eyes, sporadic giddy laughs erupting from his lips.

"Stuh--stuh-stop, plea--pleh." Arthur gasps out breathlessly, writhing.

His shirt has ridden up so that it bunches at his chest, pale bony skin revealed.

Arthur writhes violently, arching and rising up, Eames' rough hands, soft touch, bringing him alive like the fleeting brush of electricity, shocking him into motion.

Arthur's hips buck spastically, canting upwards over and over.

"Ah-Arthur, don't move." Eames says quickly in a completely different voice, thick and gruff. His hands falter.

Warmth pools at the pit of Arthur's stomach, a treacherous, dangerous, pleasurable heat. Light grey dots dance behind his eyelids.

Arthur freezes.

There's silence. Their harsh breaths echo throughout the corridor. Eames disentangles himself from Arthur and moves back.

Eames lifts up Arthur's shirt over his head. Arthur brings up his arms.

The t-shirt peels off and Eames holds it in his hands, staring down at it. He glances up at Arthur, and grins, juggling the shirt a little.

"Got it." He throws it up in the air and catches it with a downward motion like a soccer ball. He probably plays soccer. He probably does everything.

Eames smiles, glances to Arthur and nods, sharply walking away.

Arthur is suddenly, abruptly, painfully aware of the fact that he's partially naked.

Eames is already stalking, rather quickly, towards the gym hall.

Arthur glances down at himself, at his flushed pink chest, nipples pebbled and tips sharp little points, at his heaving stomach due to the exertion, the subtle bulge at his crotch throbbing noticeably, a very real ache.

Arthur blushes furiously, immensely glad that Eames has already turned the corner, breathes for a moment until he feels calm enough to head back for the changing rooms. 

He has a spare t-shirt in his bag. 

##########

Bugger.

Bugger.

Bugger.

Bugger.

Eames' pace is clipped and efficient as he makes his way to the gym, thoughts in time with his footfalls.

Eames has no idea what just happened back there. He just knows that what started out being friendly teasing turned into a tickle fight that then escalated into a heated moment of-- something. Dry humping?

Eames can't explain it. And he's still got Arthurs shirt. Fuck.

Eames had pretty much assumed he was asexual. He's never actually experienced any attraction to girls, despite his best efforts. He dated Hannah for a couple of weeks just to test the waters, but-- nothing. Not even when she'd tried to kiss him, not even when he was drunk and had sloppily kissed her. Nothing. Null. Nada.

It's was a mutual break-up, pleasant and almost friendly. Eames had decided he'll meet someone, no hurry, no worries.

And now.

Shit buggering fuck.

Eames couldn't even look at Arthur when he'd took off his shirt. His chest was lean and wired and pale, pale alabaster and glowing pink, his face flushed, eyes black ink. Hell and Holy God.

What does this even mean?!

You know what this means, a whispering distant voice tells Eames from the back of his mind.

No.

No.

No.

Eames lifts the hand not holding the shirt and lightly smacks his face, shaking his head to keep himself together.

He finally makes it back to the gym only to find it deserted. How long had he spent walking?

He realises gymnastics is over and he and Arthur hadn't even had a chance to train. Three hours gone.

Coach will kill them. He'll probably just kill Eames for not being committed, and Arthur will probably come back later tonight. Eames suspects he always does that.

Eames walks into the hallway to find Arthur gone as well. My god was there a zombie apocalypse?

Eames goes back to the changing rooms to be greeted with his lonely rucksack. He stuffs Arthur's t-shirt into his bag and changes into his crumpled school uniform. It's a lot less fun by yourself.

The sun is pouring in from the window, coating everything in gold like the hands of Midas. Eames walks to school with the mantra that nothing happened. His heart doesn't calm until second class.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Oh my god, Ariadne, do you remember Eames? I told you about Eames?!" Arthur rushes frantically when he finds Ariadne at break in school, speaking in a loud whisper.

Ariadne flings her locker open dramatically, glancing to him with a curiously devious smirk before sticking her head in.

"Oh yes, I remember. The hot sexy piece of arse that--"

"Ariadne, I never said--"

"--you forgot to mention was, hmm, Frederick Eames." She emphasises the last point, voice muffled.

Arthur blinks dumbly, thrown.

"What?" He asks pathetically.

"Frederick Eames. Son of Alfred Eames, founder of Eames corporate law firm. I do my research." Ariadne says sweetly, closing her locker door with a clang.

Arthur stares. His eyes widen, probably comical looking, and Ariadne smirks some more.

Arthur feels as though he's been doused in a bucket of ice cubes.

His thoughts whir.

Eames Law Firm.

Corporate Law Firm.

Eames' eyes are crinkled and wet and sparkling. "It's Frederick." Eames answers, voice deep and gruff like a confession.

Frederick Eames.

Corporate Law Firm.

The screen flashes with various articles. Most of them are news articles.

Shit.

"So what's with Eames?"

"S'my second name."

"You call yourself by your surname?"

Eames.

Eames Law Firm.

Well, just -- shit. Shit.

How in the fuck had he not clued this together?

"Anyway what were you going to say?" Ariadne's voice jars a him from his thoughts.

"What, hmm?" Arthur asks confusedly.

"Before. When you came rushing up saying, Ariadne, Ariadne, you remember Eames, you have to remember!" Ariadne gestures about to portray Arthur's antics.

Arthur doesn't smile.

"Eh." He frowns. "I, uh, can't remember." He really can't remember.

The reality of the situation crashes down on Arthur. Eames is rich, famously rich, smart, gorgeous, brilliant, fire.

Arthur is -- bluntly -- poor.  
And a boy.

Nothing will ever happen. Arthur should just focus back on the Olympics, his dream. Gymnastics. Gymnastics. It shouldn't be so gutting.

Ariadne grins. "Well, I still wanna meet this guy."

##########

Eames is sitting at the lunch tables, cramming his baguette into his mouth like no tomorrow, when he notices Arthur making his way over.

"Arthur--!"  
"--Arh--!"  
"--Hey Arthur--!"  
"--Hur--!"  
"--Arthur!"

The calls of the group are enough for the people around to glance about curiously.

Arthur blushes, and that shouldn't be sweet, its not.

Arthur stands at the edge of the table with another person. Eames doesn't really pay attention to them.

"Hey, where d'you go--"  
"--yeah, we were--"  
"--didn't know where you'd went!"

Arthur raises his eyebrows, surprised at their enthusiasm. He glances to Eames and Eames grins, only after realising he's just shown him a very attractive display of the regurgitated contents of his lunch. Smooth.

"Yeah, I, uh, forgot about homework, I had to hand in." Arthur explains, smiling at the warm welcome.

"Aw rats!--"  
"--that blasted--"  
"--always with the--"  
"--only you Arthur!"

Arthur laughs at their verbal attack. It's adorable, his eyes bunch up and his mouth creases, two little indents showing up marked in his plump cheeks.

Eames glances suspiciously at Rick to determine whether he's said anything to the guys, but Ricks head is hung, face beetroot. Eames frowns, even more confused.

"Anyway, I just wanted you to meet my friend--"

"Aw yeah!--"  
"--a friend of yours is a friend of--"  
"--welcome with open arms!"

Arthur looks to Eames again. He raises his eyebrows in a silent question, but Eames shrugs as if to say, 'I dunno!'

Arthur raises his eyebrows further, but his smile is warm and soft.

"So this is Ariadne." Arthur finishes as a girl shuffles her way in and leans over to shake everybody's hands.

Eames feels a twinge of jealously somewhere in his gut. Is this Arthur's girlfriend? She's Arthur's girlfriend. Why else would he introduce her to them? She must be Arthur's girlfriend.

All the guys squabble and screech like seagulls. Eames is now downright pissed and wants to know what the fuck is going on.

'Ariadne' leans over the table to shake everyone's hand. She comes to Eames and Eames takes her hand, yanking rather forcedly.

She gives him a calculating once-over, eyes bright, hair perfect, makeup perfect, perfect, perfect.

She gets to Rick, and for some strange reason, Rick wipes a trembling hand on his slacks and shakes her offered palm reverently before letting go.

"Ariadne, this is Josh, Matt, Dylan, Nathan, Tom, Rick and Eames. Me and Eames have gymnastics together--"

"And I-- me and Arthur are good friends as well." Ricks butts in, nodding to Ariadne. She smiles nervously at him.

"--and we sit beside each other in biology--"

"Yep, totally." Rick agrees. Ariadne gives him an cautious look whilst Arthur just frowns perplexedly.

"And, eh, yeah. So, that's, uh...it." Arthur says shortly. He smiles at everyone and glances to Eames for just a moment. Eames can't decipher any emotion that flickers across his face.

"So, we'll see you around, ah' guess." Arthur mumbles, smiles again before shuffling away. Eames nods whilst there's a chorus of inarticulate goodbyes.

Eames waits until Arthur is out of earshot.

"Right, okay, now what the fuck was that?" He asks dangerously low.

"Rick said--"  
"--just friendly--!"  
"--told us to be--"  
"--Rick thought that--"  
"--and he--"  
"--Rick was--"  
"--Ri--"  
"--Rick--"

"Enough!" Eames shouts. He holds up his hands like some court jury and everyone stops.

"Rick?" Eames asks.

"She probably thought I was a weirdo." He answers.

"Wha?" Eames blinks dumbly.

"No, she'll think I'm a pedophile. I leered. Leered. My hands were all sweaty. It was gross. She thinks I'm gross." He whines, face scrunching unhappily.

"Rick, what are talking about?"

"Lion Girl." Rick whinges.

Oh boy. Oh no. Oh shit.

That was HER?!

Lion Girl may or may not be the girl that Rick has been obsessed about for 4 months.

Here's a brief -- the best Eames can do -- recount.

Day 1

"Dude, dude, there's that fucking girl again. She blocks my locker and then stands there for about an hour just sorting her stuff. I can't get in."

Day 2

"Uggh, I could hit her. I swear, never hit a girl, but my god. And she jangles her fucking keys like Mrs Congeniality, I mean, seriously. She has a mini lion. Mini lion. Key ring. Is she five? Is she? I think she's a freshman."

Day 7

"There she is again. Should I say something? Maybe I should say something. I need to put my P.E kit in, been hauling this shit around for five classes. I'm gonna say something. I will. Im going to. Op, wait, way way wait. Yuss, she's gone, toodle loo boys."

Day 27

"There she is. There she is. I think we should call her Lion Girl. Cause of her key ring. Although she seems like a lion. Big eyes. She does have big eyes, doesn't she? Cause their like Pow! And I mean, that's not weird, s'just an observation, like you might-- Hazel! That's the colour. I was trying to think. Hazel."

Day 67

"Guys, guys, guys, guys. Lion Girl's wearing glasses. I didn't notice at first and I was like 'something's different', but then a double take, man, cause she's wearing these big ass monstrosities like the Harry Potter kind and I nearly laughed and I really wanted to say something but I can't and it sucks, it sucks balls."

Day-- yeah, Eames lost count.

"Guys, shh, shh, shush, shut up, she's coming. Laugh! Laugh! Laugh at me! Not at me! Oh, for fucks sake-- yeah. That failed. That was an utter disaster. She's gone now. She probably ran away."

4 months. Of that.

So that's how the group became familiar with this 'Lion Girl'.

And of course she would be Arthur's girlfriend, and she would be perfect. Of course.

"Oh my god, I was such a loser." Rick says mournfully, staring after her.

Eames glances as well. Ariadne 'Lion Girl' Arthur's Girlfriend slings a casual, painfully casual, arm across Arthur's lean bony shoulders. He smiles warmly, and she whispers something to him.

Her lips brush his ear.

His cheeks redden.

Eames feels the twist of a knife in his stomach. For Rick's sake.

Arthur shakes his head forcefully. 'No.' Eames can read from the movement of Arthurs mouth.

Ariadne 'Lion Girl' Arthur's Girlfriend raises her eyebrows and glances back. She catches both Rick and Eames studiously gazing and she drags Arthur's away with a renewed fervour.

Eames watches as Rick's obsession pulls away Eames'--.

Eames'--.

Oh My God What The Fuck Is Arthur To Eames?

His friend?

Too weak.

His, crush?

Too cliche.

His obsession.

Too...distant.

...Best Friend?

Too platonic.

Eames can't put a label on it. All he really knows is that when he met Arthur he thought he was an annoying little brat, but in the space of a week and half that's morphed to Arthur being, Arthur being...the most fascinating, magnificent, adorable, hilarious, comical, lovely, driven, artful, bright, sunny person Eames has ever known and believes he ever will.

Rick pouts.

"Oh for fucks sake, you've hardly even spoken." Eames bursts out with.

Rick glares but unexpectedly, doesn't retort.

~~

When Eames gets home, his mum is reading the newspaper on the couch.

Eames decides to be the grown up and apologise first.

"I, uh, wanted to say sorry. For this morning. I was running late."

"Mmm." He's met with.

Really.

He waits for her to apologise, just to balance the situation, but nothing. Silence. His mums eyes rove over the paper like Eames isn't there.

Eames is about to leave when his mum suddenly throws the paper down on the couch and stalks into the kitchen harshly.

Eames leans over to see what she was reading.

_Alfred Eames of Eames Corporate Law Firm, one of the largest in the world, suspected to be having an affair.  
The forty eight year old denies any allegations of any alleged cheating although Jane Harrison is seen to leaving a hotel shortly after the businessman--_

Eames charges into the kitchen after his mum.

"Mum, what's this?!" His voice doesn't sound like his. 

"Oh, leave that, just ignore it. You can't believe everything you read Eames, and the press are always speculating. Just plain rumours and gossip, that's what it is." His mum busies about but Eames doesn't actually look to see what she's doing. 

"Mum, is dad having an affair?" 

"Eames, I've told you not--" 

"Is dad having an affair?" 

"Oh, for Christ's sake, I don't know!" She shouts. 

Eames is quiet, stunned. 

"Go, do your homework or something. This is between me and your father. It doesn't concern you." She says in a softer voice. 

"Dinner will be ready in half an hour." She finishes. 

Dinner is a tense event. They eat in deafening silence, chewing so loud it sounds amplified. 

"So how was school?" 

"Fine." 

"Gymnastics good?" 

"Yeah, mm." 

"And how's that boy you've been put with? Adam?" 

Eames tries to keep his harsh sigh to a minimum. 

"Arthur." He grits. "And we weren't 'put' together, were partners." 

"Oh really, when's the wedding?" 

A sharp surprised laugh barks out of Eames. He glances up grinning to see his mum with a soft expression. 

"Not like--you know what I mean." He says, waving about with his fork. 

"You might have to specify." She says sweetly. 

Eames sighs. 

"Well, I normally just train on the pommel horse or vault, but Coach thinks the team work will be good, like for support and motivation, communication and shi--stuff. He said something about it improving our social skills, whatever. But me and Arthur practise floor-- I mean the mats, we just do, like, positions, like--" Eames lifts up his arms to imitate holding someone, then he twists them in a series of movements that probably make no sense to his mum. 

"--that, and I'll hold him up, and he puts his leg out like, that-- and other stuff, but were finding it hard right now cause there's this one where I support with with my feet, like, I'll lie on the ground like, that-- and it's a bit tricky cause--" 

His mum bursts out laughing. 

Eames stops in his animations and looks confusedly at her. 

"S'not-- it's nothing, its just. This is the first time you've actually talke--. I just never knew you were this serious about gymnastics." His mum finishes with quietly, gazing at Eames with something, something Eames doesn't really know. 

"Well, yeah, I mean." Eames shrugs. "I love gymnastics." He says lamely. 

His mum's smile softens somewhat. 

"I just. I always thought you were just doing it to annoy you're father." She admits. 

"Mum." Eames starts indignantly. "If I wanted to piss off dad, I would've picked something that doesn't have me up at five in the morning." He says. 

His mum laughs loudly, and Eames laughs too because its been a long time he's seen her do that. Her eyes shine and her smile lights up the whole place. 

He can identify her expression now. Pride. 

"Right, better get these plates washed." She goes to stand up but Eames puts a hand on his shoulder. 

"No, I'll get it." He says, gathering up the things on the table. He presses his palm for the last time to her shoulder before heading for the kitchen with the plates. 

~~ 

Eames lies in bed, fully awake, on his back with his hands clasped, listening to the dim conversation of his parents. 

"I just can't see hmm num he hmhm!" 

"She's just a hmm nhhmm what you don't trust hmmm nmmhh!" 

"Don't you dare, hmmmmmmhmhmhm, he's up there trying to sleep, I'm not having hmmmm nummn." 

"Frederick has nothing to do hmm hmhm--" 

"Our son has everything to do with this, hmm nmm and I hmmm mhmhm, tell me he was 'rebelling' when in actual fact hmm nmm gymnastics!" 

"Gymnastics? Gymnastics? What has this hmmm with that silly club? Hmm nmmhh and now its about Frederick, when there's newspapers everywhere--" 

"Oh that's just you!" The voices are becoming progressively louder. 

"Always concerned about yourself when Frederick has to be up for five or six in the morning but you don't know that! You don't know anything about our son, you're own son!" 

"Now, hmmm raise hmmm nummn mm hm--" 

"No, but that's the thing! Today was probably the first day in a long time he's actually opened up to me, I feel like I don't know my own little boy anymore!" Mum shouts. 

"Hmmm nmmh mm hmm ahum and you hmm nmmh, so lets not hmm nmmh." 

"You hmm nmm mmh and hmmm so fine, just fine. Hmm nmm to bed." 

Eames listens tentatively. There's a lot of shuffling and slamming and sighing but he can't hear any voices. Eames blinks, turns his head and clicks on the top of the clock to see the time. 

1:48 AM. 

Eames reads the time over and over, silent. He wonders that if he got up just now, would anyone notice? 

Eames quietly shuffles out of bed and goes to his rucksack. He scrambles around the bag, finding his dirty clothes that he must've forgot to put in the wash. He pulls them out and searches some more. 

Empty sports bottle. His wallet. His iPod and earphones. Something soft. 

Eames frowns and picks it out. 

Arthur's shirt. 

Eames holds it up with both hands. It looks tiny, something for an eight year old. The sleeves are so small. A wide grin splits his face and he doesn't even know why. 

Eames tries it on. He gets to his shoulders and instantly abandons the idea, too afraid he'll rip the thin material. 

Arthur's t-shirt is threadbare and worn, a bleached kind of red. Eames lifts it up to his face, just out of curiosity. 

The top smells musky, like dry dirt or fresh earth. There's the faintest hint of cheap laundry detergent, powdery and clean, and then there's another underlying scent, a piquant, pungent scent that can't be anything but just Arthur's sweat and his skin. 

Eames has bunched up the shirt in his hand, pressed the material to his face to breathe deeper. He pulls his face away and is assaulted with cold air, nothing like the warmth, still warm, of Arthur's small t-shirt. 

Eames stares down at the material in his hand. He wonders what Arthur's mum is like. She must be nice. She must be one of those mums that smell really nice and wears scarves and boot cut jeans. 

His dad must be the dorky kind, that wears reading glasses and tickles him, blows raspberries on his stomach and gives him piggy backs. 

Eames is absurdly comforted in this knowledge. Arthur must have amazing parents to be the way he is. 

He crawls back into bed. It's only when he's settling into his pillow that he realises he's still got the shirt in his hand. Eames curls his hand over so that the top is next to his beating heart. 

~ 

Something blurs. Colour. There's a bright flash. 

Rick is suddenly there, leaning against his locker. 

"So Arthur's still staring." 

Eames shrugs unaffectedly. 

"I think he wants his t-shirt back." 

Eames is suddenly terrified. 

"What? Why?" He rushes. 

"He told me to tell you to meet him. You'd better eat it." 

"No." Eames says, scandalised. Rick pouts. 

Eames is walking down the school hallway. The place is deserted. The cleaner pulls a face at him whilst mopping. Eames frowns. 

Arthur is right there. 

He holds out a small hand, wiggling his fingers. 

"Can I have it?" He asks. 

Eames suddenly realises his chest is bare. Arthur's chest is pale, the skin kind of pink-pale like peach fuzz. Healthy. Glowing. 

"Eames." Arthur whines. "I need my shirt, my girlfriend will kill me." 

Eames pulls a face. "Well I don't care." 

Arthur smiles. "Well, then I'll just have to take yours." He moves closer. 

Eames' heart rate pricks. He feels it, the weird cold warmth spread in his chest. 

Arthur moves forward. Eames abruptly notices that Arthur is naked. 

Arthur is naked. 

Eames keeps his eyes solely on Arthur's face, but Arthur is completely, utterly stark naked. Eames is hyperaware of everything around him, heart is sprinting, in that awkward limbs everywhere Phoebe way. 

Arthur slides up to him and touches the hem of his top. Eames feels a shock where Arthur's fingers graze his hipbone. 

Arthur moves his hand up in one liquid motion to run over Eames' abdomen to his chest, brush his shoulder. Eames feels the touch like Arthur's is lightly brushing at all his nerve endings and erogenous zones simultaneously. Pleasure uncoils in every internal organ. 

Arthur brings his other hand up to skate over Eames skin, grazing the sensitive flesh. He lifts up, balancing in his toes, and sways closer still. 

Eames is all out of focus. All he can see is the darkness in Arthur's eyes that is black, feels Arthur stoking and brushing with his electric fingers. 

Arthur brings his whole body closer, presses himself flush against Eames, his legs intertwining with Eames' and his chest fully smushed to his, as close as two people can possibly be. 

Eames is paralysed underneath Arthur and his skin and his touch. 

Arthur is all bone. His skeletal fingers are dancing lower, below Eames' top to his bare skin, running along his muscles and just skating over his left nipple. 

Eames' heartbeat is an even pound like the footfalls of a marathon runner or the sound of a steady drum at the Queens parade. 

"Eames." Arthur whispers, thick and deep and grating and not at all ladylike or girly, not the sweet gentle noises a guy would fantasize about. 

Eames feels a sharp, embarrassing throb in his pants at the sound of Arthur's voice. He feels himself blush harshly, blood rushing too many places and all at the same time. 

Arthur's hands are sneaking lower and lower. He presses himself against Eames slightly, shifting to wind his legs tighter. 

Eames feels the bony jut of his hipbone. 

He feels the soft press of his balls, the stiff hardness of his erection against his pelvis. Jolts shoot up his spine. 

Eames feels Arthur hand stop just at the line of his hip, idly doodling small circles. 

"Eames." Arthur whispers again. 

"Mmmm." Eames slurs dreamily. 

Arthur brings his hand away and extends his index finger and thumb to make a miniature gun. He lifts it up to Eames' head, pushing the tip at his temple. 

Eames' heartbeat flies through the roof. 

Arthur slides the finger-gun down Eames neck, tapping at the pulse point. 

"I have great aim." He speaks softly and deeply at the same time. 

He goes lower, until he's reaches Eames thudding heart, just to the right of his chest. 

He curls his thumb to imitate pulling the trigger, shooting. The pad of his finger stays there for a whole second. 

Arthur skims his fingers down still, past Eames abdomen. He hesitates over the waistband of Eames' shorts. Eames is on fire, he's burning alive from the inside. 

Arthur peeks his finger inside. Eames feels an already sticky wetness to the cloth of his pants. 

Arthur sneaks two, three, four fingers inside, skating down. His pads just brush Eames' hard shaft. Sharp bursts of flames erupt in his stomach, they crash like waves. 

Arthur slowly, so slowly, pushes his hand all the way in. His pelvis pushes down, gyrating, whilst his thumb, calloused and rough and perfect, just wipes over the head of Eames' erection. 

Eames sits up in bed so fast his head spins and bright dots explode everywhere, spotting his vision in reds and oranges and fire. 

He feels himself ejactulate the moment he wakes up. Pleasure, intense, blinding, seeping into his bloodstream like poison, turning his bones to mush. Euphoric, blissful ecstasy overwhelms all his senses, his whole groin pulsates and tingles, bum lifting off the bed to arch into nothing but the bed sheets coiled and twisted around his legs and waist sweatily. 

Its the best feeling ever, like the high of a live concert, powerful, loud, drums and guitar crashing, music flooding the crowd, he's swamped with the sensation.

When it slowly ebbs away, Eames realises he's not even touched himself. His arm is thrown to the end of the bed, hanging off, whilst his other is tangled up at an awkward angle, fingers clenched painfully around the now slightly damp t-shirt. 

Eames breathes through the high, slowly climbing back down. 

When he regains all his sensibilities, he's abruptly aware of the situation. He's just had a wet dream about Arthur. 

About his gymnastics parter. 

About a boy. 

_That's a movie, _his mind supplies helpfully. His heart doesn't do anything but scream.__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, Ricks getting annoying. I know I have an abundance of original characters, but my main stars are still Arthur and Eames.
> 
> the others are just to balance things out or add drama, whatever *waves hand about inarticulately*
> 
>  
> 
> Sorry again about my inability to say 'dick' or 'cock' or 'manhood' or any other form of the word penis.  
> I just feel it takes the magic out of it. 
> 
> But my sex scenes were always going to be rubbish anyways seeing as I have absolutely no experience in the topic whatsoever. 
> 
> This is getting too long.


	8. Feeling Kind Of Lately

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writers Block.

"So, I'm just at a loss, because I've not really ever had a dream like that, and you know that way when you toss off you're not actually fantasising about anyone, you kind of just focus on the feeling? I mean I'd consider myself quite normal even if I don't find girls particularly hot or sexy or anything. I thought I might just be that type that doesn't really bother about, sex as a whole, and I've never really felt any, powerful desire for anyone anyway, but--" 

Eames slows, unsure how to word this.  


"--but now I'm starting to-- I mean I just-- I would maybe -- Cause I don't really --" 

"Spit it out."

"I think, ImightlikeArthur."

Silence.

"...Hmm... Tricky." Patchy murmurs.

"Like not just t--" 

"Shh. I know what you mean." He says distractedly.

"...You have two problems here." He declares after a moment.

"Uh-uh?" Eames asks after a minute.

"The first is; confusion. The second; misinterpretation."

"They're basically the same th--"

"Shh. Let me explain." He hushes.

"I think you're confused about thee, eh, wet dream. A lot of people can have wet dreams about things they're not particularly attracted to. I think I actually had one about my mum's friend one time, quite random, until my drama teacher just popped up, heh not literally, but I was like 'Hi, Mrs. Campbell! Until it got really wei--" He coughs when Eames gives him a distinctly unimpressed expression.

"Anyways, let me ask, are you attracted to Arthur?" He sidetracks.

Eames thinks. He thinks hard. He thinks about the bony little boy with the wispy hair and the dimpled cheeks and the agile, lithe body, that plump little bum and--.

"Weh, ye-yes." Eames says quickly to derail his thoughts.

"Right okay, just howwh much, would you say?"

"Quite a bit, yeah! Can we move--"

"Okay, okay, okay." He rushes. Then frowns, "So if I were to just say Arthur, what are you thinking? What springs to mind?"

Eames shrugs, light pink colour hinting at his cheeks.

"Arthur. Arthur. Arthur." 

Eames is full on blushing now, a horrid gash red. 

"Okay. Okay. So do you get...? Butterflies when you see him?"

Eames frowns. Grimaces. Purses his lips. Tilts his head side to side. "Eh, dunno." He decides on.

"Well, do you look forward to seeing him?"

Eames blinks, thrown, although he's not sure why. It's a perfectly simple question. "Eh, yeah--yes."

"Right." He looks troubled. Patchy's expression suddenly clears. 

"But you still, also, have another problem. I think your misinterpreting the meaning of 'asexuality', that you mentioned, eh, earlier. I mean, you say you are, but then you say 'I've never wanted a chick'. Being asexual means you actually don't want a dude or a chick, or a monkey or a banana. You don't want nothing! Because I mean, and no offence, right now you're just thinking about asexuality in terms of wanting the V, and not the D. If you get me." He states simply. 

Eames thinks about that, and realises that actually makes perfect sense. 

When Eames thinks about intercourse, he scrunches his nose up. When he scrutinises porn magazines...nothing. Not even a twitch. He'd looked it up when he was about fifteen, 'no attraction to anyone', and when it had shown asexuality, he'd thought that was the answer. Obviously not.

"Well, yeah," he starts in reply, "but, eh, I mean, I'm not _gay _." Eames emphasises, "Not that there's anything wrong with that! I just. I think I would've, known by now." He chuckles humourlessly.__

Patchy lifts his eyebrows. 

"Mid life crisis." He offers weakly, although the grin he's fighting belies him.

"I'm not forty!" Eames shouts just as the bus huffs to a halt, and he scrambles up, chucks ten bucks at the guy, before making his unsteady, wobbling way down the small narrow sidewalk-thingy.

"Thanks Ed!" He exclaims.

"Names not Ed." Eames yells back.

"Sure thing, Ralf?!" He screeches.

All Eames can do is laugh, unwillingly, at the absurdity that has become his life.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The sun is the thing to wake Arthur up. Normally he blinks awake and just springs up cheerily, but today he's clammy and blinded and rolls out of bed with the finesse of a drunken cat. Olympic gymnast my eye.

He flops about half-assed, bleary after his restless sleep. He keeps coming back to what Ariadne had said yesterday.

"Well, he's certainly staring." She had whispered to him, subtly glancing back whilst dragging him away.

"What? Who? Why? Do I have something on my--" Arthur began.

"Arthur." She suddenly says, voice sounding-- different. 

"I think he might. I don't know if he was. No, no its fine. It's fine, just forget it." She assures.

"What? He might what?" Arthur insists.

"I just. Arthur if I tell you this I don't want it to go to your head." She said, gazing at him with troubled eyes.

"Wha?!-- What?" Arthur tried not to screech, voice coming down low comically.

"It's just. Your Eames."

"He's not my--"

"Was eyeing me up like a potential kill."

Arthur felt something prickle across his skin.

"What d'you mean? In a good way or a bad way?" He pressed.

"Bad for you." She'd answered bluntly. Cruel to be kind.

Arthur felt his tiny, insignificant, rather necessary, quite vital heart drop to lie uselessly at his feet. He felt as though if he moved he might crush it.

"Oh-aoh." His voice croaked.

Ariadne gave him a sympathetic look. Of course. Of course! Ariadne is smart and witty and beautiful and female, and Arthur is...none of the above.

Arthur had stared at the floor and scuffed his shoes. He wondered if he should take back the analogy of his heart because right now he could clearly feel the sharp thuds in his chest.

He pulls open his wardrobe to rummage for his diner clothes; slacks and shirt. He already feels late, the time just ebbing away. He drags them slowly over his skin like a drugged-- something. Some lazy animal. That could be drugged. Rhinoceros. Es. 

About an hour and a half later later finds Arthur just about ready to leave for gymnastics. The sun is blazing at his back, he couldn't cycle in this heat, so he buckles himself into his aunts car and melts into the seat.

What other animals can be drugged? Arthur continues to ponder. Bears? Mmmmm. Elephants? Ehhhh...

"S' a' nice day, isn't it?" Auntie Mal's voice startles him out if his daydream.

"Hm, yeah, mm." Arthur mumbles.

"Think the forecast was saying something about a heatwave. Heat wave! In march?! I mean I have heard its to be the hottest summer in ten years, but you do know skin cancer is as serious as any other, and if..."

Arthur zones out and watches the trees. They come closer and closer until you think they might actually hit you and then fly by, before the next. Arthur blinks sleepily, rests his temple against the cool window glass.

"...strike at any age, always remember to put on sunscreen..."

The sunlight flits through the trees where it shines behind them, as if its dancing.

"...careful Arthur. Arthur? Arthur are you listening?"

"Wha-- Yeah! Mm-hm!" Arthur says quickly.

Auntie Mal raises her eyebrows but her eyes are warm. 

"Just tired." He admits. He hears a soft sigh.

"You know, Arthur, you can always take a break from training, you don't have to--"

"No, I can't. To get into the Olympics you have to train for at least 30 hours a week, at least. I." Arthur sighs and stops. They've had this discussion before. He always ends up just repeating himself.

Auntie Mal is quiet for the rest of the journey and Arthur kisses her cheek and hops out wordlessly when they get to the centre. 

He's not in the mood for gymnastics. 

The weather is scorching and Arthur simultaneously wants to lounge about watching movies and go to the beach to sunbathe. And ice cream. Ice cream would be involved.

It's a Saturday. Double gymnastics.

Arthur is really not in the mood.

For possibly four to five hours of training which now in Cobb's eyes is messing about with Eames. The very Eames that he is nursing a truly pitiful crush for.

Arthur walks into the gym, already changed in record time, and sits-on-the-usual-bench-he-sits-on to wait for Eames. He watches the guys practising vault and tallies their scores, picks out the flaws and mentally adds in his own improvements.

Have to relax the shoulders when jumping.

Not enough speed when running.

Pheoow, that looks painful.

Needs to--

"Arthur?" 

Arthur bounces slightly in the seat from surprise and blinks to find Eames plopping down next to him.

"So cannot be bothered with gymnastics today." He huffs.

"Unngh. I think I might hit something." Arthur says in an exhale, glad to find someone sympathetic.

"Innit though? Weather's gorgeous, should be outside."

Arthur chooses to ignore the way his accent thickens with 'innit' and they way his voice seems to practically make love to the word 'gorgeous'. Studiously ignores.

"Op, forgot." Eames shoves something at Arthur.

His t-shirt.

Arthur smiles, frowns and blushes at the same time, completely forgetting about that little fiasco. He pries it away with careful fingers and realises its dry, clean and fresh.

"Hey! Did you wash this? You didn't have to."

Eames seems to find his nails utterly fascinating but the two dots of bright colour high upon his cheekbones gives him away.

"S'nothin, just being polite." He mumbles.

Arthur snorts. "Mm hmm." He drawls, crinkling the corners of his mouth and raises his eyebrows'. Eames. Polite.

The colour intensifies. Arthur wonders if he maybe insinuated something insulting. His heart flutters. Like a trapped butterfly. Pitiful. 

So randomly, Arthur straightens out the shirt and pulls it over his head, on top of his other t-shirt. Eames frowns at him, and then smiles a crooked smile, complete with wonky teeth. 

Arthur settles down on the bench, leaning his back against the cold wall.

"Look at that guy." Eames points a finger toward one of the more experienced, older gymnasts, just as he backflips onto the vault with ease and jumps over.

"Mmm." Arthur hums in understanding at the expertise of his movements.

"I just can't get the hang of it." Eames continues.

"What? S'easy!" Arthur intends for a friendly nudge but ends up jostling Eames to nearly crash off the small bench.

Eames grapples at Arthur's forearm and his fingertips dig into the fleshy skin. The strength of his hand, mingled with the slight pain of his grip, has Arthur blushing darkly. From embarrassment. Not arousal.

"Sorry--" Arthur helps him back into a sitting position whilst talking, "--I just meant that its not that hard." He finishes.

Eames huffs a chuckle and shakes his head. 

"Okay, fine. Show me." He challenges.

Arthur blinks.

"Go on, if its so easy." Eames taunts.

Arthur bristles under the teasing. Stubbornness has always been his major flaw.

"Oh, I will. And I'll be ten times better than that, uh, guy." Arthur falters.

Eames leans in close, smirk playing his mouth like a puppet. "Don't worry, I know no one here either. I never even knew you until about a couple weeks ago." 

Arthur doesn't really absorb the words because his sole attention is focused on the warm breath tickling his ear and the brief contact of Eames' plush lips that just scrapes Arthur's lobe as he misjudges his proximity and sways too forward.

Eames leans back with some sort of glint in his eye. It's terribly cliché but the only way to describe Eames' expression is devilish, his eyes glinting.

Glints that could only be explained if they were currently in a nightclub and strobe lights were bouncing off the walls. Eames raises his scarred, matted blonde brow at the delay and he just, just oozes sex appeal, roguish gangster and the lot. 

Arthur clears his throat. He's never met anybody that has such an affect on him. 

If he had been asked, before he had met Eames, to describe the perfect person, the person his imagination managed to conjure up would most definitely have not had a patch on Frederick Eames. Arthur hadn't even known his perfect person until he had set his eyes on Eames.

Arthur has made his way over to the padded runway and throws a grin over to Eames smiling like a loon on the bench, elbows leaning on his split thighs, arms dangling. He looks smaller and less intimidating. He just looks like an abundantly attractive boy, and not Frederick Eames; Rich & Famous.

And right now, Arthur wants to impress him. He wants him to be impressed so badly he's almost willing him with sheer brain power; be blown away, please. Be awed. 

But in the end, the course of true love never did run smoothly, and Arthur pretty much just jinxed himself on the spot.

And so he starts sprinting. 

It's only until he's halfway to the vault that he hears an odd pop, actual pop, and thinks, did I just hear that or feel that? and suddenly, abruptly like a whoosh of wind, pain, painpainpain, pain like he's never felt in his life, as if somebody had just quite literally set fire to his left thigh, and he jerks, knee jutting upwards with a horrific, sickening sensation of stabbing. The momentum of his run still carries him that little bit more, until both his legs give out and crumble, and that might've been okay, he could've just fell on the cushioned mat, but he's still propelling forward with fantom energy, and the last thing he is aware of is the vault at eye-level until Arthur smashes the side of his head against the wooden edge of the vault, the unpadded part, and he is thrown back, submerging into nothing, not even blackness.

##

There are noises. Arthur's eyes are glued. He is distantly aware of the panic around him, but he feels as if he is just floating upwards.

"Holy Shit, Holy Shit, Holy Shit--"

"Eames, you need to calm down. I'm going to call an ambulance."

"So much blood..."

Arthur can't hear anymore. His ears feel blocked, head stuffed with cotton. 

He has a second to flutter his eyelids before that proves to be too much effort and he slinks back into nothingness.

##

The next time Arthur comes around he is able to open his eyes to artificial light and whiteness. He wonders for a split moment if he has reached heaven until things take shape and he recognises the white walls of the hospital. 

He surveys himself. His left leg is in an elevated sling and bandages surround the skin. There is a drip in his hand. His head throbs.

He glances around the room. The bed is scratchy and the mattress is thin so he can feel the screws digging into his back. There is a chair to his right and--

What?

Eames is sitting, tub of jello in one hand, spoon dangling, and a TV magazine on the armrest. He flicks over another page.

The noise of the page flicking is so deafening that Arthur tries to reach his temple, hand getting caught up in the wire of his drip. 

"Oh! You! Wait, just--" Eames is suddenly there, magazine and jello discarded, gently easing his hand out of the tangle and tilting his head back so he doesn't bang himself.

"Mmhsapn." Arthur tries.

"Eh, sorry?" Eames speaks quietly.

Arthur tries to clear his throat, but its so dry he rasps breathlessly.

"Wait, here's some..." Eames turns his back and reappears with a plastic cup of hospital water. Arthur lifts up a weak hand but Eames holds it to his lips and lets Arthur sip even though he wants to gulp.

He takes it away after there is only a little water left and sits it back on the ledge, waiting for Arthur to talk.

Arthur swallows and tries again.

"What's happened?" He croaks. The room is swaying.

Eames looks conflicted for a second before he decides on, "Amma get the doctor." And he goes to leave.

Arthur summons all the strength he can in one hand and grips Eames fast. 

"Wait, just. Where is, are there? Is anyone else here?" Arthur manages. He can't seem to focus.

Eames comes closer and Arthur releases his grip gladly.

"Yeah, Dr. Matthews just stepped out to, uh, dunno, but Coach and your aunt are at the cafe, want me to get them too?"

Eames is talking too fast and Arthur can't process all the information and his headache returns tenfold and he groans painfully and Eames pales.

"Arh-- you know what, I'll be two ticks." And he scrambles out.

Arthur nurses his temple and soon realises the error of his ways when he feels a sharp pain, tenderly prodding at the large bump and something... Prickly? Stitches? 

"Oh, I wouldn't touch that." Says a guy in white with a clipboard. The doctor. Arthur blinks at him hazily and rubs his eye.

"So, Arthur." Dr. Matthews continues, and Arthur sees Eames amble in behind him. "It appears you took quite a blow to the head. Now I would prefer if you were sleeping at the moment, but I'll take the opportunity to ask you a few questions, is that alright?" 

Arthur grimaces when he attempts a nod.

"Okay, now this may seem terribly annoying, but how many fingers do you see me holding up?" Dr. Matthews shoots him a grin and holds up a hand.

Arthur frowns. He keeps moving, waving his hand about, and Arthur can't see.

"Could you stop moving?" Arthur asks blearily, blinking away grittiness in his eyes.

Both Eames and Dr. Matthews give him a look. 

"Arthur, I'm not moving. Why don't we try again. How many fingers, can you see, roughly?" 

Arthur concentrates. The fingers close to his face are blurring like they might when you spin around too fast and have double vision. He tries to focus rationally on the ones that don't look like shadows. 

Arthur sends a panicked glance to Eames. He doesn't want to look like a complete idiot who is incapable of math. Eames smiles, but even with his spinning head Arthur can see he doesn't mean it.

"Is it, three?" He asks wearily.

Dr. Matthews scribbles on his clipboard. He looks back up with a serious expression.

"Okay, Arthur, I was actually only holding up two, there. I think it might be a good idea for you to have some more rest at the moment, but I am obliged to inform you of your current medical situation.

When you were running it appears you hadn't previously warmed up and because of this you achieved a grade two hamstring tear as the muscle was stretched too far unexpectedly. There may be some swelling and discomfort but with the appropriate treatment there is nothing majorly severe therefore nothing to stop you returning to gymnastics, as you will be glad to hear. 

On another note, you also achieved a moderate concussion when you, may not remember this, but you hit your head against the hard side part of the vault, which is highly unfortunate, as you may know who padded they are, and anywhere else would have been less severe. Now because of this I had to operate with stitches and this may leave a small scar about your eyebrow level, barely noticeable, but we will have to keep the bandage on for a little while. Now, I would like to give you some more painkillers, but not to worry, you won't feel a thing because of this handy drip here."

Dr. Matthews fiddles about and Arthur doesn't even notice him injecting the needle into the little drip on the back of his hand. He blinks slowly and glances up at Eames, still staring at Dr. Matthews. 

"Mmes." Arthur murmurs.

Eames snaps his gaze back to Arthur.

"Whurs Ahhemhal?"

"Auntie..? Your Auntie Mallory?"

"Mm-huh."

"Do you want me to? I'll go get her. I just went straight for the doctor earlier." Eames reddens.

Arthur reaches a leaden hand and strokes Eames' arm. "Mnkque." 

Eames is gone in a blur. Dr. Matthews collects up his things and follows shortly after. Arthur's eyelids are becoming heavy and sticky and he fights to keep them open. The soon fall closed and Arthur thinks; its okay, I can still stay awake.

When Coach, Auntie Mal, and Eames bumble back not a minute later, Arthur is asleep.

############

Eames has never experienced a panic attack. 

That is, until, he sees Arthur's small body hurtling across the sky only to crash into the vault. Eames and Coach are up quick as lightening, quicker than lightening.

There is blood. Arthur's blood.

"Eames, you need to calm down. I'm going to call an ambulance, and you help him into a lying position."

Eames gingerly touches Arthur's arm. He's completely unconscious. All those people who talk about 'looking vulnerable in sleep' are wrong, wrong wrong wrong, because Arthur doesn't look just vulnerable, he looks dead. 

Eames manoeuvres him as softly as he can and watches the horrific smear of red it creates on the mat as Arthur's head lolls uselessly. Eames can see his own hands shaking where they rest on Arthur's shoulders and he knows he needs to get a grip but seriously, seriously, brain haemorrhages. 

Coach comes over. "They're on their way. Jesus Christ, what did he do?"

The worry in Coach Cobb's voice is the thing that sets Eames off.

"I don't know, I don't know, he was just running, and then the next second I think he hurt his leg because he sort of limps but then he goes and fucking smashes into the vault and knocks himself unconscious." Eames rushes.

A crowd has gathered around the crime scene, probably everybody in gymnastics, but Eames really doesn't give a toss.

Coach goes to wait for the ambulance outside to lead them in here, and once he goes, people flock like vultures.

"What's happened?" A girl dares ask.

"I don't know yet." Eames bites out which is partially a lie because he thinks he may have pulled his hamstring from the way his leg buckled and is obviously been knocked unconscious.

"I think he has concussion."

"What did he even do?"

"I just saw him hit his head."

"I heard something, like a bang."

"There's blood all over the mat."

"I can't see."

"Is he still awake?

"Can you just, move a bit." 

There's a scuffle and suddenly the girl from earlier stumbles forward and steps on Arthur's limp fingers. The group sway and close in as if oblivious or uncaring.

Eames is so angry he sees a misty haze of red.

"Right, just fuck JUST FUCK OFF!" He stands up and all but forcefully pushes everyone back, walking so they have no choice but to move.

Eames has a sudden revelation of how fickle gymnasts are. He stares furiously at all these unfamiliar faces and realises they're not unfamiliar due to Eames' own fault; they're unfamiliar because of theirselves.

When Eames had joined the centre just about a year ago after four years of breakdancing, he had always wondered on the stark difference of the two groups. But he realises it now; street dancing was close-knitted, family, whilst gymnastics is cold competition. 

His dad had worried street dancing would have a bad influence on him, that he would turn into some sort of gangster and start messing with guns, but the truth is that the guys had welcomed him with open arms, always cheering and laughing and just generally having a good time, but once he joined gymnastics, it was brittle and unfriendly, every man for themselves, constantly hostile as if any moment there was a chance someone might actually shoot you.

Right now, wild eyes and glaring at all their bitch-piss-faces, Eames realises he knows no one because no one, not one, actually attempted to get to know him. He suspects Arthur of shyness, but he too probably thought Eames would be just as hostile as the others. And he is currently unconscious whilst everybody has taken a sudden interest in him after, what? Six years, probably longer.

"You know what, you can all just fuck off." Eames spits. Literally. He sees his spittle fly towards the cluster of people and they recoil in disgust. Take that, mothafuckas.

"You lot don't actually give a shit. All you care about is a good bit of gossip to bitch about. How long has Arthur actually been here? I bet none of you actually know! Hah! I bet none of you actually know his name! He's unconscious. Unconscious. He could have a brain haemorrhage. You just fucking stepped on his fingers you were that fucking eager to survey the damage. One down, less competition. Fuck you all, it should be you lying on the floor." Eames' spontaneous speech ends and there is stunned silence complete with blank faces until Coach comes in with two other people carrying a stretcher. 

Eames helps gently ease Arthur onto the material and follows them out to the ambulance waiting in the parking lot.

He sits down on the passenger seat and watches as Arthur's limp form is set down on the bed. 

"Where is his stuff?" Coach asks.

"Oh shit, I forgot, I'll--"

"No, I'll go back, I need to get his emergency contacts at the reception anyway, I'll meet you at the hospital." Coach says and jumps out the van. The medic, a woman, fusses about Arthur, blankets and all sorts.

"Do you know what happened?" Asks the friendly female voice.

Eames scrubs a hand over his face. "I think he must've pulled his hamstring only he hit his head on the vault and knocked himself out." Eames hurries.

"Well, we'll get him patched up. Are you his..." She nods her head.

Eames frowns.

"His?"

"His boyfreh..." She trails.

"Oh!" Eames blushes furiously. "Nu-no, j-just a friend, friend." Eames mumbles are cringes at the repetition.

She smiles softly. Knowingly.

"If you insist." She whispers.

Eames' eyes widen and he ducks his head to stare at his feet. He picks a stray thread in his sock and glances up to see her sitting across him on the other seat.

The ambulance starts moving and Arthur's head lolls again, until the vehicle goes over a bump and his arm sneaks out to dangle mid-air from the bed. Eames glances to the woman, hoping she might adjust him, but she's scribbling on a clipboard and seeming not to notice.

Eames eases over and catches his arm before it straightens out, setting it on the bed and rubbing his thumb sideways over his fragile wrist. Arthur feels cold. Eames stretches further to pull the blanket up his body, tucking his arms in. His head is lolling again to the side so Eames stands up and tenderly eases it over, hands gentle on his jaw and fingers brushing away the sticky strands at his wound. He presses cold fingers into the nape of his heated neck, stroking the skin at the base of his skull and Arthur's mouth opens, faint breath of a sigh escaping.

Eames glances quickly to the medic only to find her watching anyway. Eames ducks his head again and looks everywhere but her.

"Here." She whispers him over. "I get all sorts of people in this line of work." She winks.

Eames can honestly feel the heat in his cheeks.

"Eh. I mean. It's not." He stutters.

"Don't worry, my job isn't to judge." She smiles reassuringly.

Eames feels his chest deflate and he continues petting Arthur until he mumbles, studiously keeping his eyes on the railing of the bed, "He mmu nho."

"Sorry?" She asks.

Eames huffs embarrassedly. "He doesn't, know." He whispers, and if he can detect a hint of desperation in his tone then he's screwed.

She gazes at Arthur soundly before, "I've no doubt he feels the same way." She answers shrink-ily.

Eames can safely say he's never felt this flustered in his life. For the second time today he's just admitted to his big gay crush.

The ambulance stops moving and medic woman goes to get up.

"Could you. Could you please not. Say..." Eames tries weakly.

Her eyes go round. "Oh of course! Our little secret." She taps her nose. 

Are paramedics always this nice? Maybe she's just in a good mood.

Half an hour later finds Eames just about climbing the walls, whilst Coach and Arthur's aunt hit it off.

"Really? I would never have pegged you for the romantic type." She giggles.

"Oh Titanic is a classic! Such a touching film that shows the contrast between young love and a love that lasts a lifetime, with the older Rose between scenes to illustrate the sorrow but also the tragedy the ship's sinking left on lives." 

Eames has never heard such a load of bollocks come out of that mans mouth before.

He flicks the page of the random magazine he had bought at the cafe loudly, hoping they might realise, but their PG-rated eye-sex carries on unnoticed. 

Dr. Matthews comes round the corner like a knight in white linen armour, and Eames has jumped up before the two lovebirds can blink.

He rushes over but Dr. Matthews bypasses him in favour of walking to Arthur's aunt.

"Hello, Mrs, I would like to inform you that your nephew has only a few stitches to the left side of his head, I'm afraid it will scar but it'll fade in time. He also has a medium grade hamstring tear on his left thigh, but recovery is eminent and none of his injuries are severe nor will cause him to not return to gymnastics." Dr. Matthews summaries cheerfully. 

Arthur's aunt breathes a sigh of utter relief, pressing a hand to her chest, and Eames has a moment to feel guilty before Doc is talking again.

"Currently Arthur is resting at the moment due to his moderate concussion but hopefully when he wakes up in a couple of hours he will be right as rain. You may sit in his room if you prefer or you are welcome to wait in the cafe or the lounge area."

Coach and Auntie Mal gaze at each other shyly before Coach is saying, "Why don't we go for some breakfast, Mallory, and Dr. Matthews will call us when he wakes up. We're no good for Arthur when he's resting." He smiles reassuringly. Mallory, Arthur's aunt, smiles and nods.

"Eames, it might be best for you to go home. You have your cell phone to call your mum?" Coach asks.

Eames shakes his head side to side.

"No, no, I. I'll just wait in his room." He stresses.

"It will be pretty boring, Arthur is only sleeping at the moment." Doc tries.

"No!" He lowers his voice. "No, it's fine, I don't care, I'll be there when he wakes up." Eames says more firmly.

So here he is, spooning free jello in his hand and reading all about the wonders of How I Met Your Mother Big Reveal in the other, whilst casting occasional glances to Arthur.

Arthur eyes are resting lightly closed and his dark eyelashes sit heavy on his cheeks, every individual hair distinguishable because of his pale skin. Arthur's hair spills over the pillow like liquid and creates a type of halo around his face. His leg in in a sling but his arms are above the sheets, frail and bony.

No one is here. 

Eames still looks pointlessly before setting the magazine down and scraping the chair closer. He cringes, worried he may have woken him, but Arthur still lies, unmoving.

Eames reaches out and brushes away a stray strand that may have been itchy. Who is he kidding, Arthur is unconscious, all Eames is doing is touching his face. He trails his fingers down, curious, and again presses them to Arthur's neck. He doesn't wait for a reaction as he cups a hand around the back of his skull and squeezes. 

Arthur's lip's part in sleep and his eyelids flutter as if he's dreaming. Eames feels something in his innards tighten. Helps to know he's still alive, he tells himself in explanation. Although why he has to explain himself to himself should be a warning signal.

Eames sets himself down on the chair and picks up the magazine . He grabs the jello in hopes of a sensory distraction but the small tub feels light so Eames peeks in and. Yup. Finished.

He flicks over the page with renewed fervour and thinks about texting his mum. That thought comes back a-negative. He thinks about texting Rick. 

Oh hey, Arthur kinda split his head open, in the hospital right now, mind picking up a McChicken sandwich? 

After about two minutes his attention is captured by the Agony Aunt section, rather fitting. He's at the climax of Annie's rather sound advice to the girlfriend who suspects her husband of cheating when he hears a rustle and finds Arthur in a bit of a tangle. Awake. Alive. Moving.

It takes a second to realise he's actually struggling and Eames divests him of his wires, calms Arthur slightly before rushing for Doc.

"He's awake, he's awake." Eames blurts when he finally catches Dr. Matthews in the corridor.

Doc frowns at him, the 'I've never seen this strange man in my life before' frown, so Eames repeats, irritably, "Arthur. He's awake and I think he's in pain." Hint hint, wink wink.

Dr. Matthews expression clears of all emotion and it would be a bit creepy if Eames weren't so glad he finally understands.

"He, shouldn't be, that's impossible. He should be unconscious for at least another two hours. I, I don't." Doc stutters. Now this is when Eames really starts to fucking panic.

"Are you sure?"

"No, I had a conversation with jello, and this is all for the shits and giggles." 

"You talked to him?" Doc asks, incredulous, sidetracking Eames' sarcasm.

"Yes." Is all he manages.

Doc is walking. "Incredible. Must be some light sleeper." He mutters. Eames is too busy trotting after him to listen.

So after Dr. Matthews has given him the painkillers, Eames retreats back for the two lovebirds.

He finds them, cheerily eating from their individual salads and Coach is just gazing while Arthur's aunt talks.

"Guys. Arthur's awake." Eames starts when he nears them.

"What?! But he can't--"

"It's okay, he's drowsy, but he wants to see you." After Eames had said it he wishes he hadn't for the utter grief stricken look it gives this Mallory.

"Oh, my poor boy, I wasn't there.."

They're both up and running before Eames can even awkwardly pat her shoulder but by the time they get there Arthur is completely sparked out, head at a weird angle and its oddly endearing.

Coach gives Eames a heated death glare. If looks could kill lets just say in less explicit terms Eames would have melted to a liquid puddle of goo like the Wicked Witch of the West.

"He was awake." Eames tries.

Mallory places a motherly hand on Eames' forearm.

"It's alright. It might be best if I'm here anyway. Dominick, you don't have to stay." 

Eames feels majorly unwanted. Like, if these two were naked sitting across from each other, he would literally embody that fart in the bathtub that is just a mood-kill.

Coach glances to Eames and Eames smiles like an elephant might do whilst having its sponge bath. Uncomfortable but polite.

But Coach turns back to Mallory and she gives him a shy smile as well only this one is coy and bashful.

He plops his backside right down on the stiff chair beside her.

"I'll keep you company." He says quietly and, embarrassed, adds, "And Arthur. I'm worried about Arthur." He hastens.

Eames sits in his usual seat and yawns. He checks the time on his cell just for his stomach to gurgle loudly. He turns beetroot and excuses himself to go to the cafe for something to eat.

Once in the hallway he brings out his phone again and clicks on Rick's icon.

Beep..beep.  
Beep..beep.  
Beep..beep.  
Beep..be--

"Dude, this better be good, its like eight in the morning." Comes the muffled voice.

"I'm at the hospital." Eames says, going straight for the big guns.

"What?! Why?! What happened?!" Asks the decidedly more awake voice.

"It's not me. Arthur hit his head."

"Is he alright?" Rick asks worriedly.

"Look. I need you to do something for me." 

"What? Anything."

"I need you to get up."

"Okay."

"Get dressed."

"Doing it."

"Get your wallet."

"Ohhkay."

"Step outside."

"I've not even got my shoes on!"

"Put on shoes."

"Done."

"Step outside."

"Done."

"Walk down your street."

"Doing it."

"Turn left."

"Wait a second!... Okay, left, done. 

"Walk down that street."

Huff. "Doing it."

"Turn right."

"... Done."

"Do you see the road?" 

"Just about."

"Cross that."

"I don't even know--"

"Cross."

"Doing it."

"Do you see that sign for McDonalds?"

"Uh-huh."

"Go in there--"

The line goes dead.

Eames curses. Damn hospital food and damn Rick.

He makes his way to the cafe, buys a water bottle and a bread and butter from the fridge, and heads back for Arthur's room.

Once he steps inside, though, he finds Dr. Matthews with his little needle out giving Arthur more painkillers.

"Did I miss something? Did he wake up?" Eames bumbles.

"No, I just want to make sure he doesn't wake up again. I've been told he's a light sleeper but in this case he needs to rest." Dr. Matthews explains, packing up.

"Oh." Eames silently settles down on the rigid chair and quietly attempts to butter his bread with the frozen margarine, careful not to snap the plastic knife. He nibbles peacefully whilst going back to the magazine.

He only looks up when Mallory, stroking his arm, asks bewilderedly, "Is he wearing two shirts?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Arthur blinks awake groggily and looks about the room. Auntie Mal is dozing on the chair beside his bed, fingers neatly stapled and legs crossed, and Coach! Coach reading, something.

Arthur turns his head slightly to find Eames? Eames asleep, sprawled clumsily all over the other chair, limbs twisted as he dwarfs the seat. Arthur feels an unwilling smile smear all over his face as he takes in the sight. He flips his head over to Coach.

"Heeeey youhhh." Arthur slurs sleepily.

"Arthur?" Coach asks, surprised.

Arthur giggles. "S'hoo else deww esszzpect." 

Eames is stirring and blearily scrubs a hand over his face. One side of his cheek is red and the hair is flat where it was pressed to the seat.

"Eayhmssz!" Arthur gestulates.

Said Eames blinks at him.

"Who is why you here?" Arthur asks inarticulately.

"Wha, eh, hmm?" Eames' voice is gravelly from sleep as it breaks slightly.

"You lookike an advert for spooning." Arthur smiles dopily.

Eames flushes but attempts to look nonchalant. "What, spooning jello?" He holds up the empty pot.

Arthur shakes with laughter, braying like a high-pitched donkey, whole face turning into one big crinkle. 

He hadn't noticed his aunt was awake until she's speaking.

"Oh, your up!" She smiles kindly.

Arthur continues to laugh. He points a finger to Eames, "Spooning!" He squeaks and has to tilt his neck backward to laugh, body humming and bones soggy like flexible pencils.

Auntie Mal raises both eyebrows to Eames and Eames shakes his head vigorously. She looks to Cobb but he only lifts his shoulders, lingering before letting them fall.

"Maybe we should get Dr. Matthews." She suggests.

Coach gets up with Auntie Mal and Arthur frowns as they leave. 

"Where why?" He yawns.

"They'll be just a sec." Eames stands up and pats Arthur's hair reassuringly. Arthur moves right over and butts his head into Eames' palm.

"Eayyymz. Eamsey Eames. Eamsicle." Arthur sings. "Eh eh eh Eames. 

Eames snorts above him. Arthur fidgets and glances up.

"Eayy-ayy-Eames."

"What?" Eames smiles despite himself at Arthur's dopey, loose expression and glassy eyes.

"Youuuuuu, crank dat soul-ja boy." 

Eames laughs shortly as if he didn't mean to. He sits down again, shaking his head.

"I thought you were in a gang."

Eames tries to suppress laughter and his lips wobble. "Nope." He answers with a pop.

Arthur frowns again. "But you, breakdance." He wiggles a bit on the bed.

Eames' cheeks spark with pink but he still smiles. "How d'you know that?" 

Arthur grins lazily and tries to tap his nose but his fingers won't cooperate so he just ends up stroking it as if he's trying to pick a booger.

"S' ahhh just know." 

Arthur suddenly sits up straighter. "Ariadne!" He remembers. The smiles skids right off Eames' face. "You-- Ariadne! She said you! Ah. I know. Do you want me to give you her number?"

"What?"

Eames is flushed and flustered and its the colour of his face that has Arthur realising just how truly brown his skin is. Against the white of the hospital his arms radiate health and sun.

"Eayymzzz." Arthur whines suddenly 

"What?" 

"You lieyyy." He cries.

"How?"

"I thought you were supposed to be engliysh! You so tan! S'not fair!" Arthur wails.

"Uh."

"It's okay Eames." Arthur says abruptly, putting a palm up. "I'm not racist. If you're African be African. No shame." He closes his eyes and pats his chest proudly.

"I'm, uh, m'not really sure--"

Dr. Matthews storms in, clipboard in tow, and glances at Eames and then to Arthur. Auntie Mal and Coach follow shortly after.

"What are we talking about?" Doc asks. Arthur's mouth snaps shut with a comical click of teeth and they both stare innocently at the assembled crowd.

"Nothing." Eames attempts just as Arthur says, "I was just telling Eames to not be ashamed of who he is." Arthur clasps his hands and nods a psychological nod. 

Doc purses his mouth significantly. He comes around, serious expression in place now, and asks, "So Arthur, how are you feeling today?"

"Like curdled milk." 

Eames tries to rein his his snort.

"Ah. It seems the painkillers have taken their effect." 

Arthur snickers.

"So, how many fingers?" Dr. Matthews holds up a hand.

"None! I didn't order any fingers!"

"Arthur." Doc scolds.

"You have ten fingers and ten toes, Dr. Matthews." 

Eames is still repressing giggles.

"Yes, but how many am I holding up." He persists.

Arthur huffs unhappily. "Two." He sulks.

"Now?"

"Four."

"Now." Doc holds up fingers in both hands.

"Two in your right and three in your left." He tries to be clever.

"Yes, which makes."

"Five."

"Very good!" He a scribbles again on the clipboard. "You seem to be well rested. You may feel drowsy at the moment but that will wear off after a couple of hours. Now I think it may be a good idea for you to stay overnight because head injuries are very fickle things, just to keep a eye on you." He smiles at Auntie Mal as he leaves and she returns one in kind. Coach scowls.

"Yayy." Arthur pretend cheers.

Auntie Mal crosses over to him but she speaks to Eames.

"Eames, I think its about time you go home now. Not to shoo you away! But you've done more than enough." 

Eames looks conflicted. 

"N'aww-aww." Arthur complains.

Eames smiles awkwardly and scratches at the back of his neck.

"I, uh, yeah. I know, I know I said I would stay until he, woke up. And you look fine!" He turns his attention to Arthur. "Alive at least. Gave us all a bit of a fright! But uh, yeah, I should go." He nods to Coach and Auntie Mal. She smiles gratefully at him and something in her widening of eyes makes him duck his head.

"Uh yeah, so. Bye Arthur." He raises a hand and sort of waves maybe possibly if you squint one eye but Arthur smiles happily.

Eames is close enough to touch; for a goodbye hug or a friendly pat-on-the-shoulder, ruffle of hair fist bump, handshake, anything. But he doesn't. 

Eames just smiles and Arthur just smiles and they both just smile but neither move and although Arthur wants him to and although Eames wants him to they don't touch. 

Eames awkwardly ambles out and through the medication and haze of painkillers Arthur still feels his fingers itch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've edited little bits from here and other chapters that I think just round the story nicely, but any complaints and comments I'll take note.


	9. Interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not going to clog up the start with a big spiel but thanks for reading and drop me a comment because it really makes my day!

Eames balances, attempts to balance, and fails to balance, a biology, french and history folder, as well as a mountain of maths sheets and English textbooks. You see, okay, so he does this; he rests them on his knee and tries to press the buzzer to the apartments, but they seem to just slide and then everything is back to square one, so he lifts them all haphazardly up and tries to bump his elbow against the bell, but can't seem to catch it or bend that way, and Jesus Christ--

It all started like this. 

"Ariadne! Ariadne! Ara! Ah!"

She finally, finally turns, my god is she, trying to walk, Eames can't even create a good analogy from running, places.

"Hu-wooh!" Eames exhales, blinking away spots, hands on his bent knees. "Arh, Arh--"

"Yes, that is my name."

"Arthuh-huh," Eames waves a hand.

"What about him? Is he okay?" She asks worridly.

Eames waves his hand again and holds up a finger.

"..."

"Arthur. He needs homework. You have most of-- classes. I'll give." He pants.

"But I was just making my way--"

_Jesus Mary Buddha and Christ she's the girlfriend she gets everything I'm giving him his bloody homework! ___

__"No. Trouble. Need to. Gymnastics. Talk about gymnastics." He sighs and slows his breathing._ _

__"Oh, okay. Well it's just around the left--"_ _

__"I know. I'll take his homework." He beckons with his hand. She warily opens her backpack and starts to unload into his hands. And unload. And unload._ _

__And then he gives her a smile and a wave and is off._ _

__If he's being honest, he misses him. It feels odd coming to gymnastics, after two weeks of working with him, to not be greeted by a huff and a glare and a, 'right, let's get on with it.'_ _

__Coach had sidled up and said softly, "glad to get back to the pommel horse, eh?" But Eames just shrugged and silently started warming up._ _

__It's really not as if he's died, but it's just. He and Arthur just have a, click, connection, instant understanding, and it's just bloody fucking shite practising without him._ _

__Which leaves him in his current predicament._ _

__Don't ask him why he knows where Arthur lives, it's a long story filled with, Rick._ _

__However, he neglected to mention the _actual number _of his apartment.___ _

____So Eames is left, finally managing to press the buzzer, only to have a conversation like like;_ _ _ _

____"Uh, is this Malory or Arthur?"_ _ _ _

____"Nope."_ _ _ _

____"Okay thanks."_ _ _ _

____He tries the second._ _ _ _

____"Is this Malory or Arthur?"_ _ _ _

____"I'm awfully sorry, I think you've got the wrong apart--"_ _ _ _

____"Okay, thank you very much."_ _ _ _

____Hits the next._ _ _ _

____"Malory or Arthur?"_ _ _ _

____"Eames?" Comes the disgruntled, bemused reply._ _ _ _

____Is it gay to smile at that? Who gives a toss?_ _ _ _

____"Bonjour, monsieur."_ _ _ _

____"Wait. Who is this?" Arthur demands._ _ _ _

____"It's me!" Eames cries excitedly._ _ _ _

____"Eames what in gods name are you doing here?!"_ _ _ _

____"Charming!" He shouts._ _ _ _

____"Answer the goddam question!"_ _ _ _

____"One, I came to see how you are as a _concerned friend _, two, I have homework for you, and three, we need to talk about gymnastics."___ _ _ _

______"Ariadne gives me my homework." He replies confusedly._ _ _ _ _ _

______"Yes, well, that little arrangement has been permanently severed." He grits out._ _ _ _ _ _

______"What, why? Is she okay?"_ _ _ _ _ _

______"You know, for two people going steady, you seem to have no knowledge about the others whereabouts and/or mental/physical condition."_ _ _ _ _ _

______"Going steady? Who's going steady?"_ _ _ _ _ _

______Eames' heart blips. "She's your girlfriend, may I remind you."_ _ _ _ _ _

______"Wh!" He makes a noise of shock. "Eames, if Ariadne is my girlfriend, there's something she's not been telling me."_ _ _ _ _ _

______"As in, she's not?" He presses himself to the buzzer._ _ _ _ _ _

______"No! Why on earth would you think that!"_ _ _ _ _ _

______"Because you introduced us! To the group!"_ _ _ _ _ _

______"Not as my girlfriend!"_ _ _ _ _ _

______"But I thought she was your girlfriend!" He exults._ _ _ _ _ _

______"I thought you wanted her to be your girlfriend!"_ _ _ _ _ _

______"Well I!-- wait what?"_ _ _ _ _ _

______"She told me you were checking her out!" Arthur's tinny voice screeches._ _ _ _ _ _

______"Hold up-- she telling everyone I fancy her? From one encounter?"_ _ _ _ _ _

______Arthur giggles delightedly. "No, no just me, but, but you don't!"_ _ _ _ _ _

______"Of course I don't bloomin' well fancy--" Arthur sets off again, "a girl I've just bloody well met!"_ _ _ _ _ _

______"Well then who do you bloody well fancy!" Arthur yells._ _ _ _ _ _

______Eames laughs, "YOU!"_ _ _ _ _ _

______There's silence on the other end. Eames catches up with himself._ _ _ _ _ _

______"Sorry, I don't know where that came from." He coughs._ _ _ _ _ _

______"Yeah, yeah, slip of the tongue." Arthur says and then laughs. "I cannot believe she thought you liked her. Not to be mean! Just. You did only just meet."_ _ _ _ _ _

______"Ex-actly." Eames drawls, glad for the subject change. "So. Can I come up?"_ _ _ _ _ _

______"Of co-- wait. Oh shit. Fuck buggering crap." He curses. There's rustling and then an dull thump._ _ _ _ _ _

______"Uh, Arthur? You okay?"_ _ _ _ _ _

______"N- yes! Just a minute!" More scuffling._ _ _ _ _ _

______Eames waits. He shifts his weight from foot to foot. He chews his lip. He reads through the french folder._ _ _ _ _ _

______"C'est enneyeux!" He tells Arthur. There's a crash._ _ _ _ _ _

______"Okay okay I'll buzz you in." He breathes._ _ _ _ _ _

______Eames takes the stairs two at a time. He knocks politely on the door, and Arthur opens looking rushed._ _ _ _ _ _

______They stand there looking at each other for a moment, and it should be awkward but it's not. Eames' eyes rove over his form whilst Arthur just stares at his face._ _ _ _ _ _

______Then the moment passes and they laugh. Eames hands Arthur his homework so to distract him and also give himself the opportunity of snooping. He grazes past Arthur and investigates._ _ _ _ _ _

______Typical Arthur, instead of having junk food strewn about, has fruit. There are banana and orange peels, kiwi skins, apple cores, empty raisin boxes and plastic boxes of grapes, blueberries and strawberries._ _ _ _ _ _

______Eames turns and raises his eyebrows. Arthur blushes. "I got peckish."_ _ _ _ _ _

______"For fruit?"_ _ _ _ _ _

______Arthur frowns. "What else?"_ _ _ _ _ _

______"Candy?"_ _ _ _ _ _

______Arthur widens his eyes in disbelief._ _ _ _ _ _

______"Do you realise how much that would effect my weight and recovery if I just sat and ate sweets all day?"_ _ _ _ _ _

______"No." Eames murmurs._ _ _ _ _ _

______Arthur's rolls his eyes fondly. "Come on. Sit down." He blushes again. "Or if you want to, just go or--"_ _ _ _ _ _

______"No, no I'll stay. Nice place."_ _ _ _ _ _

______Arthur hums, grimacing. "Maybe."_ _ _ _ _ _

______"No it is! Homely. Chaud."_ _ _ _ _ _

______"Okay, when did you learn french?"_ _ _ _ _ _

______"Hey! Your folder!" Arthur laughs again._ _ _ _ _ _

______They settle into comfortable silence as Arthur flicks through his missed school work and Eames sneakily looks around the house._ _ _ _ _ _

______It is a nice place, small but made bigger with the white cream walls and minimal furniture. Tidy and neat. Arthur keeps glancing up furtively but his face stays a permanent beet even as he's reading. He sets all his stuff down abruptly and jumps up._ _ _ _ _ _

______"Do you want a tea? coffee, drink, fruit, I think we have some biscuits actually, or--"_ _ _ _ _ _

______"Arthur, sit down. Your leg is still. I don't know. Oh my god I didn't even ask I'm so sorry how are--"_ _ _ _ _ _

______"You don't know where the kitchen is it's fine I can just--"_ _ _ _ _ _

______"Arthur you still need to rest, just sit down--"_ _ _ _ _ _

______"I'll get you something--"_ _ _ _ _ _

______"N-"_ _ _ _ _ _

______"Ea-"_ _ _ _ _ _

______Arthur bursts out laughing before Eames joins in. Then they can't stop. Arthur has to collapse back down as Eames doubles over._ _ _ _ _ _

______After the calm down to titters Eames asks, "no, really, how is your leg."_ _ _ _ _ _

______Arthur shrugs, "dunno. I've been doing the exercises. Still a bit, tender I guess. But I should be back at gymnastics some time next week."_ _ _ _ _ _

______"Whaaaayt?" Eames moans._ _ _ _ _ _

______Arthur smirks cheekily, but his face is too young to pull it off so he misses flirtatious by a mile and just falls in the vicinity of endearing._ _ _ _ _ _

______"Missing me already?" He asks._ _ _ _ _ _

______Eames chuckles and says, "Of course! Without you, how am I supposed to fend off Coach?"_ _ _ _ _ _

______Eames sidles up to Arthur and adopts Coach's mannerisms. He lays a hand on Arthur's shoulder._ _ _ _ _ _

______"When life gives you lemons, Eames, make some lemonade." Arthur starts to grin. "I mean," Eames continues, gesticulating, "how is that remotely related to gymnastics?"_ _ _ _ _ _

______Arthur smiles and just looks at Eames. Eames clears his throat and says, "so what exercises have you to do?"_ _ _ _ _ _

______Arthur sighs extravagantly. "Just the usual, sky diving, swimming with sharks, etcetera."_ _ _ _ _ _

______Eames barks a startled laugh._ _ _ _ _ _

______"Here." Arthur hands him a sheet. "Just this everyday, for like half an hour."_ _ _ _ _ _

______"Blimey! This looks harder than what Coach has lobbed us with!" Arthur chuckles and nods._ _ _ _ _ _

______"Pretty much. But it's good, it's feeling good." He shucks up his shorts and shows off the fully bandaged leg. He flexes. Eames gulps._ _ _ _ _ _

______"Yu-yeah, uh-huh." Eames stampers._ _ _ _ _ _

______Arthur is distracted. "It just twinges but I haven't even tried running or anything, I'm just power-resting." He smiles._ _ _ _ _ _

______Eames studies closer the exercises. "Hey! This one has two people."_ _ _ _ _ _

______"Yeah. Auntie M sometimes does that. Ariadne as well."_ _ _ _ _ _

______"I'll do it." Comes out of Eames' mouth. He literally didn't even think it._ _ _ _ _ _

______Arthur seems taken aback as well. "Are you sure?"_ _ _ _ _ _

______"Yes! I'll do it very proper." Now he's not even making sense. "I mean. Because I'm a gymnast. I'll do it properly."_ _ _ _ _ _

______Arthur frowns and smiles and shakes his head. The he starts to lie back on the couch. "Okay." He says._ _ _ _ _ _

______Eames suddenly realises the gravity of the situation. He's about to basically massage Arthur._ _ _ _ _ _

______He gets up, tentatively places a hand on his knee, and pushes it upwards to stretch the hamstring._ _ _ _ _ _

______"Though you said you'd 'do it proper'" Arthur lifts his head and raises his eyebrows._ _ _ _ _ _

______"Alright, alright, it's been five seconds." He scolds._ _ _ _ _ _

______He feels Arthur laugh lightly because he wobbles. He taps his bent knee in reprimand benevolently._ _ _ _ _ _

______After that its honestly fine. He thought his underlying attraction to Arthur might hinder him, but once he gets into practise of lift, stretch, hold up, other leg, it's all plain sailing._ _ _ _ _ _

______He can't say the same, however, for Arthur. He's completely red all over and keeps unintentionally kicking him._ _ _ _ _ _

______"Sorry!" "Oof!" "I honesty didn't mean that that time!" "Did you mean it the last time?" "No, I--" "Guh! Arthur? Do your legs have some nervous tick?" "Evidently so!"_ _ _ _ _ _

______Eames sighs. "Okay, okay. This isn't working." He let's go of Arthur. Arthur lays, sprawled over the couch, legs splayed open, sweaty and flushed and frowning._ _ _ _ _ _

______Eames suddenly erupts into laughter. Arthur frowns harder._ _ _ _ _ _

______"What?" He snaps._ _ _ _ _ _

______"You would frown during sex."_ _ _ _ _ _

______Arthur waits patiently as Eames teeters off. "Quite finished?"_ _ _ _ _ _

______"Ahhh, nearly."_ _ _ _ _ _

______"What is with you and your obsession with how I look during sex?" Arthur asks._ _ _ _ _ _

______Eames promptly shuts up. "No reason." He can't stop smiling at Arthur's angry little frown._ _ _ _ _ _

"Yeah, well you probably _smile _during sex. Laughing all the way to the bank." Arthur grumbles._ _

______Eames laughs anyway and reshuffles them so that he's kneeling over him more comfortably, sunk deep in the couch._ _ _ _ _ _

______"So how would I--"_ _ _ _ _ _

______"Arthur! That's me back! I've got your paracetamol and--" Malory steps into the living room and takes one look at them._ _ _ _ _ _

______"Oh my! I'm so sorry I didn't realise--"_ _ _ _ _ _

______"Nuhu!" "Mmumph!" "It's not!" "Nonono!" "We weren't" "completely wrong" "doing what you" "side of the" "think."_ _ _ _ _ _

______They both stand apart._ _ _ _ _ _

______Malory surveys the scene with amusement and relief. "Eames, hello. It's nice to see you again. I couldn't believe my eyes!"_ _ _ _ _ _

______"Of course we would never" "hello again miss."_ _ _ _ _ _

______Arthur scrambles for the sheet so quick he must get whiplash. He points to the pictures._ _ _ _ _ _

______"Ah." She says._ _ _ _ _ _

______They both let out minute sighs. Eames turns to grin at Arthur. He grins back._ _ _ _ _ _

______*_ _ _ _ _ _

______Everything settles after that. Eames comes over everyday for Arthur's work, and to update him on gymnastics at to get updates on his condition._ _ _ _ _ _

______In school, Eames decides to be the bigger person and invites Ariadne over. She shoots them a grateful look and Ricks appears as if he might faint._ _ _ _ _ _

______It's quiet. He keeps getting glances in gymnastics but ignores them. He sits at the dinner table with his mother and father and makes small talk. Rick gushes over insignificant changes in his and Ariadne's relationship. Hannah smiles at him more._ _ _ _ _ _

______And then Arthur is back. Gymnastics is hilarious. Lunch and Biology exciting. After school they sometimes go back to the training centre, and Arthur tells him about his ballet and Eames his breakdancing. They practise their exercises, lifts, individual apparatus' and separate dances. Other times they go out for something to eat. Or go to the park Arthur likes. Or go see a movie that Eames has been talking about for ages because 'it's a classic, who doesn't like marvel!'_ _ _ _ _ _

______The attraction is still there. Eames is sometimes so blindsided by it that he has to stop and let it pass over. Sometimes when Arthur is watching something, and he blinks slowly. Or the way he says certain things. Or when he smiles lopsidedly at some joke and only one of his dimples pops._ _ _ _ _ _

______So that's Eames' life for a while. He still has his parents, Rick, Hannah, but Arthur seems to dull all that like a focus blur in a camera._ _ _ _ _ _

______*_ _ _ _ _ _

______"So. You're in love with Arthur."_ _ _ _ _ _

______Eames looks up at Rick before the words register and he chokes on his orange juice. It stings his throat and eyes and he splutters for a while._ _ _ _ _ _

______Rick sighs. "Don't try and deny it."_ _ _ _ _ _

______"I've not even had the chance to try anything!" He screeches. Rick grimaces and touches his left ear._ _ _ _ _ _

______"It's okay dude. No homo."_ _ _ _ _ _

______"I know you're not gay."_ _ _ _ _ _

______"No! No homo! No homophobe!"_ _ _ _ _ _

______"Homo means homosexual." Eames says._ _ _ _ _ _

______"You-- ahh!" Rick shakes his head. "Don't try to change the conversation."_ _ _ _ _ _

______"I'm not. I'm not in love with Arthur." He replies reasonably._ _ _ _ _ _

______"Get up." He says._ _ _ _ _ _

______"Excuse--"_ _ _ _ _ _

______"Up."_ _ _ _ _ _

______Eames hefts himself up. He sets his juice and book down and looks around the lunch table. The guys are all preoccupied. Arthur had a dentist appointment._ _ _ _ _ _

______"Guys." Rick says. They all turn. "Eames is in love with Arthur. Hands up yes._ _ _ _ _ _

______All five hands, give or take some being off, go up._ _ _ _ _ _

______"Hands up no."_ _ _ _ _ _

______Zilch._ _ _ _ _ _

______"Okay, okay, this is ridiculous." Eames defends._ _ _ _ _ _

______"I'll be you and you be me." Rick says._ _ _ _ _ _

______"I'm so confused right now."_ _ _ _ _ _

______"I'll do you, you do me. Stand and look pretty."_ _ _ _ _ _

______Eames waits._ _ _ _ _ _

______"Hey Rick! Rick!" Rick whispers._ _ _ _ _ _

______Eames sighs. "Yes, Eames?"_ _ _ _ _ _

______"Have you ever wondered, why your own farts smell nice, but other peoples don't?"_ _ _ _ _ _

______"I'm not playing this ga--"_ _ _ _ _ _

______"Now, you be Arthur and I'll be you."_ _ _ _ _ _

______"I'm serious--"_ _ _ _ _ _

______"Hey, Arthur!"_ _ _ _ _ _

______Eames rolls his eyes. "What."_ _ _ _ _ _

______"So have you done the biology homework, I found the idea of stem cells absolutely fascinating, I mean that they can turn into any cell in the body, there could be a possible cure for everything! But the fact that there are ethical issues surrounding the research as they're taken from--"_ _ _ _ _ _

______"Okay, you've made your point."_ _ _ _ _ _

______The guys are laughing and clapping. Rick bows._ _ _ _ _ _

______Eames grins devilishly. "Hey, Ariadne! Oh Ariadne!" He skips around the table and frolics his hands about, "you have just the prettiest eyes, I mean oops am I making my obsession obvious? Well anyway I was wondering if you wanted my leftover pudding, oh it's your favourite well shiver me timbers what a darned coincidental, incidental--"_ _ _ _ _ _

______"Uh."_ _ _ _ _ _

______Eames and Rick spin around to find Ariadne standing with her tray._ _ _ _ _ _

______"I was doing him!" Eames points to Rick._ _ _ _ _ _

______Rick's eyes widen impossibly. "He was teasing me! He's lying!" He points to Eames._ _ _ _ _ _

______Eames splutters. "He was teasing me first!"_ _ _ _ _ _

______Ariadne lifts one brow. "I pretty much heard the whole thing. From, 'I'll do you and you do me.' That is quite a good impression of how you talk to Arthur."_ _ _ _ _ _

______Eames and Rick both blush to the roots of their hair. She continues._ _ _ _ _ _

______"Although I don't get why you suddenly started doing me?" She asks innocently._ _ _ _ _ _

______Rick turns pleading eyes in Eames._ _ _ _ _ _

______"Wu-well, that was because, I, was trying to change the conversation, from these mongrels and their, uh, lying ways."_ _ _ _ _ _

______Ariadne nods exaggeratedly, pulling her head back for a moment and murmuring, 'ahhh'._ _ _ _ _ _

______She sets her tray down and comes to sit beside Ricks seat. He sits down so fast he bounces._ _ _ _ _ _

______Eames goes back to his book._ _ _ _ _ _

______All during lunch, Ariadne and Rick keep giving each other flirty little glances. She points to his dessert. He holds it up to his chest protectively. She laughs loudly._ _ _ _ _ _

______Eames sighs a little too wistfully. The whole table turns to him. He busies himself with the book._ _ _ _ _ _

______*_ _ _ _ _ _

______"So. Eames is totally in love with you."_ _ _ _ _ _

______Arthur groans. He does it quietly though, because he's in a class._ _ _ _ _ _

______"We've been through this, me and Eames are--"_ _ _ _ _ _

______"'Just Friends.'"_ _ _ _ _ _

______"Exactly." He says happily._ _ _ _ _ _

______"Well that's odd. I mean if you two are just friends, I'm guessing that means that you don't have any feelings for him?"_ _ _ _ _ _

______"Exa-- wait. Well. I mean."_ _ _ _ _ _

______"Uh-huh."_ _ _ _ _ _

"Well, I mean. Not _any-more _. We just. We get along really well. Now. And, so what? So what if I have a teeny, tiny--"__

________"Arthur you called me at three in the morning bemoaning the fact that Eames jumped away from you when you leaned over to show him something." She quirks and eyebrow._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"Okay, that was one time!" Arthur defends._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______"Three in the morning." She deadpans._ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Arthur sighs. "You're right, I'm sorry. I've been going on about him a lot."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"Damn right! But anyway I heard something about him that you might--"_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"Look, Ariadne, I know you mean well, but maybe we should stop taking about Eames. At least for today."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Ariadne turns down the corners of her mouth, "Okay. I think you would have liked it, but. Fine."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Arthur sags in relief. "Thank you." And because he's an amazing person, asks, "So what's going on with you and Rick?"_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________*_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"Howdy." Eames drawls as he saunters over to where Arthur is warming up. Arthur raises his eyebrows but grins._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"You're in a cheery mood."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"Well, I have some news."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"Oh no." Arthur says. Eames laughs._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"I was wondering if you wanted to come to my, uh, part-ay."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Arthur stops warming up and frowns.  
"Party."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"Yup. Birthday party, woop woop!" He pretends to raise the roof._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Arthur smiles despite himself._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"When?"_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"This Friday! I was actually wondering--"_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"Uh, excuse me?" A voice says._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Arthur and Eames turn to see two guys standing, shifting awkwardly and averting their gazes, save one._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"Hi! I'm Yusuf. You won't know me. I just thought we might come over and introduce ourselves. This is Fischer," the guy on the left does a salute, "and this is Saito" the guy on the right nods._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Arthur and Eames stay silent. Yusuf grimaces._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"I know this might seem a bit odd, but after your, eh, injury, we thought we might just team up because, uh, everyone else here is a dick and, we just, assumed, because you two are like, the best of us, that you'd be, like, antisocial and whatnot--"_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"Okay, Yusuf." Saito interrupts. "What we're trying to say it that. You, Eames, your speech was rather, uh, touching, albeit a bit fatalistic -- "________

 _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _Arthur mouths _'speech?' _to him.__________

 _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _"-- but I completely agree, with everything you said, so we just wanted to say hello."__________

 _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _

__________"The card." Fischer side-whispers. "Oh!" Yusuf scrambles, pulls out a slightly bent card from his fleece and gives it to Arthur._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________They all angle to read it. It says;_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_Hope you'll be,_  
As fit as a fiddle,  
Soon. _  
_

__________And inside just a, 'from us'__________

 _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _"As fit as a fiddle? AS FIT as a FIDDLE?" Saito asks incredulously.__________

 _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________"You had one job, Yusuf. One job." Fischer agrees._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________"What? It's funny! He's a gymnast!" They all give him blank looks. "Have you not seen fiddler on the roof?"_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________"I'm not sure you've seen fiddler on the roof." Saito replies._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________"No, no, no! The guy! Like dances!" He does a little hop on the floor. "Like jumps about. Like gymnastics!"_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________"The fiddler on the roof is about racism between Russians and the Jews." Fischer dead pans._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________"I like it." Arthur argues. And then that's that. Saito puts a hand across his shoulders. Fischer punches Eames on the forearm. Yusuf asks, "Hey, could you show me how to do those flairs on the pommel horse because I just can't seem to get..."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________Eames can see himself having to expand his house party._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are you okay? Did you get through that? Is it, was it, *collapses*
> 
> I wrote this in two days. TWO DAYS. That may seem like a lot a time, but trust me. ITS NOT
> 
> Okay, one, deeply apologetic. For those just starting this, will be like, 'why?' But to those who have been waiting just about a year, they'll be shouting, 'you're goddamn right you're sorry, YOU GODDAMN RIGHT YOU ARE.'
> 
> Two; exams, studying, writers block, holiday, the new Spider-Man movie.
> 
> Three; I honestly thought I wouldn't finish this. I almost deleted it a couple of times. But I'm so glad I didn't. I was on my dashboard going to my bookmarks, when I saw my summary, and honest to god laughed at how cheesy it was. And just for the sake of it, I wanted to read it again and laugh at myself. But then I did, and I got a ton of ideas how to finish it, so I will.
> 
> Four; so there's gonna be a big ass cheesy speech at the end of chap 10 about life and love and if I were you I'd just ignore it.
> 
> Five; I gave it ten chapters so my fic could be ten out of ten in something
> 
> Six; thank you


	10. Want You To Want

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to post this on the closing ceremony of the Commonwealth Games, only there were a few complications, but it's here now.

Eames wanders aimlessly, the noise and the lights and his sloppy state distracting him from concentrating on his task. He had vague premonitions that this party would turn a little 'out of control', but not _wild ___. Bloody _'ell ___. He can't even _see. ___

___He's already passed Ariadne and Rick making out, which he could have lived without, and he's pretty sure something has been smashed or broken in the living room, going by the dull crash and the delayed, "aw shit."_ _ _

___This was a terrible idea. This was the baddest of b--_ _ _

___"Oh. There you are."_ _ _

___Hannah is smiling, playing with a stray strand of hair and twisting it around her finger._ _ _

___"Uh."_ _ _

___"Woah!" She laughs, and steadies him even though he isn't swaying. He frowns down at her hand, puzzled._ _ _

___"I've been looking for you. I've actually been looking for you for a while now. "_ _ _

___"Um."_ _ _

___"I mean. Eames. I've been looking for you for a while now." She blinks for a long time. Maybe she's tired._ _ _

___"I've always liked you."_ _ _

___Eames sucks in a realised breath._ _ _

___Thing is, he's always liked Hannah too. She was so different from anyone else that's shown an interest. They seemed to just slide into dating. Only problem, is that the person that _Eames ___is interested in, is his very own platonic gymnastics partner. His very _male ___gymnastics partner. He thinks maybe he should take that as a hint of some kind._ _ _

_____"Ah s'rry, Anna," he slurs softly. "Ah jus' dn feel tha way nnmur'."_ _ _ _ _

_____She blinks._ _ _ _ _

_____"Oh, my god, did I just totally attack you or wh--"_ _ _ _ _

_____"Nu nu!" He shouts. "Nu nu nu." He shakes his head, but gets distracted by the shaking. "Beooo, beooootifuh guh. Jus' noyt my," he sighs tiredly, "my beautiful."_ _ _ _ _

_____"You're right." She smiles, amused at his antics. "We're better just friends. Otherwise I would be finding _this ___very attractive."_ _ _ _ _

______Eames gives her an affronted look, as if to say, 'it's not?' And she laughs, which was his goal._ _ _ _ _ _

______"Right, mister. I'll let you get back to your party."_ _ _ _ _ _

______She makes as if to hug him, but he panics, because _he's seen rom-com's, people, ___And he doesn't want to have been looking for Arthur for the best part of half an hour, only for him to stumble upon this scene._ _ _ _ _ _

_______He grasps her wrists and pushes them away from him._ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______"Oh my!" He says. "I jus' remember! Something! Bye!" He darts away from her confused expression._ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______Which lends him into his kitchen. He decides to go out into his backyard, and closes the door as the cool night air washes away his intoxication. He breathes for a while._ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______Then he notices a slumped little figure sat in his backyard in the damp grass, and of c _ourse, ___of course Arthur would be sat out here like a little sad sack of potatoes._ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Eames flops down beside him._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Arthur startles, but blows out a breath in a smile when he recognises him._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"Sorry." He whispers. "I'm just not good with," he gestures around, "these things."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Eames tilts his head p to the sky. "To be honest, me neither."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Arthur gives him a blank look. Eames laughs._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"I'm serious." He says._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"Eames." Arthur starts. "Everyone in that room cannot shut up about you. How are you 'not good' with these sort of things?"_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"All I wanted, was a quiet gathering, I'm serious I'm serious, shh, a quiet gathering, with my close friends."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"Now you really do sound like a forty year old." Arthur chuckles. "And who would that all include?"_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"Well, _you ___. The guys. Our new friends." They both laugh lightly. "That's like _nine, ___give or take. There's like sixty in there."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________Eames sighs and rests on his elbows. Arthur follows suit._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________They fall into a comforting quiet, their breathing so far removed from the noise of the party, that seems like someone else's party now._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________"Hey, did you see Ari and Rick or what?" Arthur grins softly._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________"Yeah, who called that?"_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________"No-one!" Arthur cries indignantly, twisting to face him. Eames laughs._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________They sit smiling for a while._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________"No, but I, I think they're really suited." Arthur murmurs, looking up._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________"Weh, yeah, I mean. If I believed in soulmates, in real life, I think. They would be the closest thing."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________Arthur has turned to look at him, and Eames can feel the prickle of his stare at he back of his neck, but he focuses on picking out bright spots in the sky._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________Arthur hums quietly. They're both quiet. He sighs and lies down, taking the weight off his elbows. After a minute Arthur flops down lying beside him._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________It's nice like this. The grass is wet and cool at his back. All he can see is the night darkness, white blinking lights._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________He turns his head to Arthur only to catch Arthur staring back at him. Arthur's face heats. Eames settles his cheek against the dirt to fully turn to him. Arthur does the same. His eyes are very dark and very pretty. His brown hair is curling wryly on his forehead. They just look._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________Arthur huffs and turns his head back. Eames reins in a hot little ball of disappointment._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________Arthur sighs longingly. "So--"_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________He cuts off when Eames starts trailing his finger along his bare arm. Goosebumps erupt in the wake of his touch. They both look at Eames' fingers._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________"I think you've had a little too much to drink." Arthur murmurs._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________Eames waits so that his voice will come out steady. "Not that much." He says calmly._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________Arthur's breath hitches. Eames looks up to him, still trailing his fingers, and sees Arthur's pulse jump in his neck. He brushes his fingertips over Arthur's wrist. He doesn't apply any pressure, but he can still feel the erratic beating. He smiles into the grass._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________"Eames." Arthur whispers, cautious._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________After a minute Arthur brings his hand up and skims his fingers against the back of Eames' hand, the one touching him. Eames shivers excitedly._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________Their fingers brush. Arthur's nail slides down the inside of his palm. It tickles._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________"Hey!"_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________The startle and push up in their elbows, twisting around._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________Yusuf and Fischer are standing at the doorway, the kitchen light streaming in behind them._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________"Can we have your birthday cake?" Yusuf yells._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________Eames and Arthur frown. "Sure?" He answers after a stunned second._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________Yusuf turns around._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________"The Plan. Is. GO!" Yusuf screams into his house._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________There are answering catcalls, yells, screeches, whoops and whistles._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________Arthur and Eames turn to each other and break out into grins._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________"Well, there's my plans of crying into frosting whilst watching the notebook down the toilet."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________Arthur's grin wobbles until he just explodes with laughter._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________"At least they asked." He giggles._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________Eames shoves his shoulder a little. Arthur shoves back. Eames pushes him so hard he falls into the mud. He runs as Arthur bounces back and tries to pull him down._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________He's still smiling even as he and Arthur are picking little pieces of sponge off the walls._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________*_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________Something seems to shift in their relationship, imperceptibly. Eames tries to pin it on something._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________He confides in Arthur about things he wouldn't even tell Rick. He dissects every last thing he says to Arthur, everything Arthur says to him, all their conversations._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________When they talk time seems to run away, and he's often late back home. Sometimes he'll just chuckle, and people will look at him, but he's thinking about something Arthur has said, which he does, _a lot. _____ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

___________Arthur's bedroom turns into a little sanctuary where they can talk and talk and talk, and Arthur will sit cross-legged on the floor, fiddling with Eames' rucksack, and Eames will sprawl out on Arthur's bed and press his face into his pillow._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

___________He thinks if they were stranded on a desert island they wouldn't run out of things to talk about._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

___________Arthur hates fat on his bacon, he's irrationally scared of lifts, and his hair smells like apple shampoo._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

___________He's happy._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

___________*_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

___________Training is fun, now. He and Arthur are nailing most of the exercises, and when they aren't laughing and playing twister, they're talking to the others in gymnastics._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

___________They've gotten closer with them over the past few weeks, and most of the time they're cheering each other on or mocking and jeering and trying to make them fall off._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

___________Arthur touches him more. He jabs him in the side and jumps on his shoulders. He even ruffled his hair once._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

___________They still practise on apparatuses, and it's still tiring and difficult and chalk is still ingrained in his hands, but Eames bloody loves gymnastics._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

___________*_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

___________Eames waits for Arthur at the arranged diner at 4 in the morning._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

He didn't know places _existed ___during this time. He didn't know four in the morning life was possible.

____________He's knackered. He lays his head down on his folded hands across the table and rest his eyes._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________A waiter comes over._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________"Hello, can I get you anything?"_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________"I'm waiting on my friend, thanks." He mumbles, not looking up._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________"Oh, well." The waiter says. He sounds amused. "You don't look too peaky."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________"As in ill?" He blinks, confused, rubbing his eyes._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________"As in tired. Are you not usually awake at this time?"_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________"Bloody -- no, mate. No. But. You gotta do what you gotta." He sees stars and swirls behind his eyes as he scrubs. "Do." He sighs._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________"Which is?"_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________"Being awake for your bloody, blooming--" he looks up._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________He pauses._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________Arthur is standing, lips convulsing in an attempt to restrain his laughter, dressed in an apron._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________"You look remarkably like someone I know." He mumbles._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________Arthur laughs loudly and collapses into the booth._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________He waves at Eames' expression._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________"I'm off work, I just wanted to see -- that." He articulates. He chuckles._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________"Okay?" Eames says questioningly._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________"I work here." Arthur answers, voice saturated in humour. "I just thought we could get breakfast, and then I got an idea." He grins wickedly._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________"You work here? At four in the morning?"_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________"Two till four. No five. Wait."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________"Arthur." Eames interrupts. "How do you-- how are you alive? How. H."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________Arthur laughs again. "I needed a job for gymnastics, and no other times suited, so." He shrugs._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________Eames wilts. "But. Sleep?" He asks._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________"Naps." Arthur amends._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________"I don't understand."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________Arthur calls someone over and orders them pancakes with strawberries and whipped cream._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________"Trust me." He whispers. "There's nothing to understand." He finally answers perkily._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________Eames is still at a loss. He imagines himself working in this place for three hours, only to go to gymnastics for another three and school for six. Then back to gymnastics for up to five. And then._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________And then he goes out with Eames, or studies for exams, or practises ballet, or._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________Eames stares at him in astonishment. "How do you function?"_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________Arthur flushes in embarrassment. "Just. Got to do it."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________Eames feels a flare of resentment for himself. His parents have enough to pay for this hobby every year, but for Arthur this is his life, and he has to work for it, really work, to keep something he loves._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________*_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________School is quiet. People are focused on upcoming exams and uni options. Rick and Ariadne are nauseating._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________They sit and lunch and touch. all. the. time. Constantly. And not the still kind of touching._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________Stroking hands, hair, necks, faces, rubbing thighs, lips, feet, arms, bumbling noses, chins, foreheads._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________The third time they accidentally shove him, he sighs into his vegetables._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________Arthur looks up across from him, and smiles. Eames smiles back._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________*_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________They're sitting on the bench taking a break, watching the high bar exercises._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________"I just going to the bathroom." Arthur tells him._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________"Okay." He says, looking up to him._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________Arthur pats his shoulder as he gets up, but he trails his hand down Eames forearm as he leaves._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________Eames flushes and looks down. He looks back up to watch Arthur walk away, and Arthur turns around and smiles at him. He smiles back goofily, and holds his gaze as he keeps walking._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________Someone cuts in between them, and Arthur rises up on his tiptoes to keep looking at him over their head. Eames laughs and ducks down again, but glances up quickly._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________Arthur walks backwards into the doors, smiling to him. He turns and disappears around the corner._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________"Ohhoh-oh." Saito intones._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________"Ohhhhhhhhh." Yusuf drum rolls on the side of the bench as they flock around him and start hitting him, getting steadily louder in slapping him on the back and jumping up and down._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________Eames laughs, too happy and giddy and Arthur-y to care._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________*_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________"Ugh." Eames comes in one morning, flopping down beside Arthur on the bench. "My parents just told me this morning they're getting 'couples counselling.'_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________They sat me down and they were like, 'now we want you to know, this has nothing to do with you.' I felt like they were breaking up with me."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________Arthur laughs with him, until he bumps his knee with Eames' and says, "I think it's great."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________"Yeah, I." He ducks his head. Arthur is mercifully silent. He's already told him everything about the situation, all his doubts and all his frustrations, and Arthur seems to understand enough to know Eames is okay with this and not ask any questions. He really is sometimes just absolutely grateful for Arthur._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________Coach comes in. He makes a harried gesture. Everyone stops._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________*_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________To be a gymnast is a long and complicated process._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________There are Junior Olympic competitions, where Arthur chose to compete in Men's Artistic Gymnastics at six._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________And in this, levels in which you progress, and compete every year until level ten._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________Competitions are held at local, state, regional and national levels.  
National competitions are only held at the highest competitive levels, i.e. 9 and 10._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________After you reach level 10, you can qualify to elite (Olympic-level) competitions and trails._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________And then you can be selected to represent the US in international and other major competitions. The gymnastics committee weigh your performance at trails, your strengths on each apparatus, your past experiences._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________And then they decide on a team of five gymnasts to go to the games._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________*_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

They're going to the Commonwealth Games. They're going to the Games, in Scotland, in _Glasgow ___. The Commonwealth Games held every four years across the globe. People will watch them _across the world ___on _live TV ___.

_______________"Arthur." Eames says. "Calm down. This is good. This is everything we've both worked for. We can finally have something to show for ourselves."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________Arthur looks at Eames, and Eames looks back, with such a determination in his eyes, he begins to finally laugh._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________*_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________Arthur's first thought of Scotland is that it's very _green ___. As they're flying in, the pass by fields upon fields upon fields of green grass and forest trees._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________But then Eames' head falls on his shoulder, and he snores softly, and he didn't have any more thoughts after that._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________As they land, Eames sits up groggily and scrubs his face. Arthur smiles softly at him as he groans._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________"Mmm. Are we here?" He croaks._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________"Think so." Arthur answers. Eames yawns. It's so adorable he can't deny it._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________They gather their bags and amble out into the airport. It's about four in the morning. The sun is just rising. Eames' hair is flat on one side and tufted on the other._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________The bus to the village where the apartments are is a couple of hours. Arthur looks out into Glasgow. It's quiet, and sparse. Eames seems to just want to sleep._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________It's endearing; as soon as he finds a seat or an available surface, he'll just flop down, until he's moved again. He's like a puppy._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________When they arrive at the apartments, Arthur looks over to him. He's bent over the armrest awkwardly._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________He puts his hand on the back of Eames' head and gentles him awake, stoking his hair._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________"Eames." He murmurs. "We're here."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________Eames blinks and gazes at him. Then he sighs and moans, rubbing is temples._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________"That was like five minutes." He complains._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________Arthur chuckles. "Try two hours."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________"What?" Eames cries. Then he cringes and rubs his forehead. "I have a killer headache."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________"How?" Arthur asks._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________"I didn't sleep at all last night." He says softly. "Too nervous."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________"I know." Arthur says._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________"Right guys." Coach says at the head of the bus. "Training starts tomorrow, for now just get settled into your rooms. Rest, and build up your energy. I'll see you tomorrow. I'm going to bed."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________The people in the bus laugh._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________Trailing their suitcases up to their rooms is an exhausting experience._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________They have two bedrooms, so he and Eames will take one, and Saito the other._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________It's just the three of them, including two other athletes from another centre._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________As soon at they get their keys to work, they tumble into the room, and Eames heads straight for a bed, any bed. He flops stomach first and lays motionless for a moment._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________"You okay?"_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________"Mmh uhm huh."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________Arthur snickers and goes about unpacking. He and Saito fold their clothes in the closet, hanging up their costumes and then their normal clothes. Arthur fondles Eames' pyjamas and puts them in his bedside cabinet. He leaves his underwear._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________Then they set about exploring their rooms. He puts their snacks in the fridge, their books on the coffee table and sets down to reading the newspaper on the couch._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________Saito goes out to get some groceries and explore. He comes back and they read._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________After two hours, Saito bows out and goes for a nap._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________Arthur last another fifteen minutes. He sighs and gets up heavily. Then he goes to bed._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________There are two separate beds, but they are close enough to be pushed together and called a double. Arthur sits down on the bed, and looks at Eames dozing._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________Eames cracks an eye open. "You. Sleep." He murmurs._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________Arthur chuckles. He takes off his shoes and socks and stretches out on the mattress._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________The feeling is wonderful. The sheets are cool and soft. He moans into his pillow. He turns his head sideways to Eames, staring at him._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________Eames blushes and looks away. "You should have slept sooner." He informs him. Arthur hums agreeably._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________They stare at each other, and it reminds him of Eames' birthday._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________Arthur reaches over and tucks a piece of hair behind Eames' ear, and teaks his lobe. Eames gapes at him, and he laughs, until Eames plucks at the hem of his t-shirt and lets it go with a ping. He laughs again. Then he sleeps._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________*_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________They wake and go about getting dinner and investigating the apartment complex in more detail._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________They find a nice cafe and order sandwiches. It's about five, and they aren't particularly hungry._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________They get lost on the way back. Then they terrorise the guards at the entrance of the apartments with ludicrous demands and accusations._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________"What do you mean you don't sell kilts? I thought this was Scotland? Shame on you!"_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________Then they make friends by knocking on people's doors and rushing away._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________They get back to their room at about half seven and Eames checks his phone._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________"Oh Jesus, four missed calls. Wait a minute. Hello? Hi. Sorry, sorry, I was just getting settled. Yeah, everything's fine. No, I'm alright. I had a nap. For like five hours. No, we start tomorrow. Yeah, I'll text. I will. Look, Rick, I need to go I haven't even called my parents."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Arthur and Saito laugh as he hangs up. He rolls his eyes and holds the phone to his ear again. "Hi mum. No I had I nap. I _did ___.." He walks into the other room.

_________________He and Saito share chuckles._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________"Actually, I should call mine." Arthur laughs._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________"Me too. When are they coming?"_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________"Oh, my aunt's flying in tomorrow. So are Eames' parents, I think he said." He frowns. "You?"_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________"Same time, same place. Couldn't do it without them, you know? Dad's been with me all the way."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________"Yeah." Arthur murmurs. "Me too."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________*_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________The first day of training is an odd and new experience. The training centre is massive, and there are so many different people, all from different places._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________He, Arthur and Saito stick together. They take turns on one apparatus, and don't separate._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________Eames looks around at the other athletes, rushing and jumping and practising. There are Australians, Africans, people from England, Scotland, other countries he can't even identify._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________He feels a little small, and very overwhelmed. He's timid in his movements, un-daring in his routines, and people look to them curiously._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________It takes a long time to familiarise himself with the new environment. The pommel horses are firm and plump, not worn and soft. He's never been so intimidated._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________The only thing that makes it bearable are Arthur and Saito. Arthur look just as scared as him, and Saito makes a face when someone passes by._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________He laughs. He can do this._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________*_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________Arthur settles into bed softly, switching off the bedside lamp. Eames turns around._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________"How you feeling?" He whispers._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________Arthur shrugs. "Odd."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________Eames smiles. "Suppose we'll get used to it."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________"Suppose." He fingers his sheet._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________"We're going home in two weeks and you're going to win gold."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________Arthur laughs. "'Aye right." He drawls._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________Eames hoots with laughter._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________Arthur feels a touch in the darkness._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________He cups his cheek. "You can do it. I know you can." He moves his hand down, and splays his palm over his chest, over the beating of his own heart._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________"I can feel it."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________"What's all this hanky-panky?" A voice says._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________They turn to the blinding light at the doorway. Saito comes over and pushes the beds together. Then he settles awkwardly between them._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________"You could close the bloody door." Eames says._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________Saito jumps up, but Arthur pads over and shuts it softly._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________He returns. Saito sighs for a long time, settling into the pillow._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________"I want my mum." He says._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________They all chuckle._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________"Me too." Eames replies._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________"Mm." Arthur murmurs._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________*_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________Training is brutal. It's been a week of living at the gym, and practising at the arena. The place is huge, and crowded._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________His mum and dad had arrived a couple of days ago. Knowing they're there in the stands is both comforting and unnerving._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Eames had finally realised how big this thing is. He watches the others, Arthur practising rings and Saito on vault. They're so _good ___.

__________________Jesus, this is harder than he'd expected. He's needs to perfect six whole routines; his floor exercise, vault, rings, parallel bars, high bar and then his pommel horse. He's absolutely exhausted and his muscles are screaming and feel as if they've been wound around his skin._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________He tightens the wrap on his hands and sets to work._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________*_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________The Games have started._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________Arthur is in love with Scotland. The people here are the most welcoming he's ever met._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________He, Eames and Saito took a day trip into the city centre. Glasgow Central station is massive. Eames snaps photos as he walks, and they generally bumble about like tourists._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________Then they're out, and they regroup and view their map. They walk to Buchanan street, and navigate to the Merchant City Festival, and from there George square, where they reroute to the Glasgow Green Festival._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________Since they're in their team jackets, people know they're athletes. They're stopped repeatedly throughout the day, and asked to take photos. People want to see them hold poses, and film them doing exercises._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________Arthur is touched. Children want to be lifted up and swung, people want an autograph. He feels famous. Even though he's foreign, he's welcome._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________He feels like a part of something amazing._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________There are banners advertising the Games. There are statues proclaiming 2014. People dance down the streets. There are bagpipe players, and singers, and stands for everything. The streets are filled. The smell of smoke and burning foods and pastries ferments the air._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________It's exciting and wonderful. Eames buys him a waffle, drizzled in chocolate sauce and sprinkled with nut pieces. He rips it apart with his fingers and they share. Saito takes pictures of them; sticky and laughing, leaning into each other, mouths open._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________It's one of the best days of his life._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________*_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________It's getting nearer the competitions. Swimming has already finished._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________Arthur is focused, determined. He's training almost twenty four hours a day._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________Eames knows he's going to get a medal. The home nations watch him cautiously as he throws himself into every routine. Eames is so proud the back of his throat itches as he dismounts._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________He's perfection embodied. His limbs turn to water and he _flows ___. He's made to win. He must._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

___________________*_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

___________________They're going out tonight, to explore the nightlife. It's healthy sometimes, to get away from it all. He's changing and getting ready, checking his phone to text Auntie Mallory, only for it to open up in photos._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Of Eames. For scrolls upon scrolls upon scrolls. The little _shit ___must have stolen his phone at some point. And taken photos.

____________________All of himself. Smiling in the morning, with a cup of coffee. Raising his eyebrows tilting the camera to the left, where Arthur is unsuspectingly reading. Arthur eating. Arthur sleeping. Arthur sleeping in the background whilst Eames grins. Eames wide eyed and exaggeratedly shocked in front of Arthur practising vault, mid air. Eames and Saito in the apartment, grinning. Saito sneezing. Arthur drinking. Arthur blinking._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________Eames photobombing his parents talking. Eames photobombing Coach. Eames photobombing the two other athletes in the team._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________Eames smiling with all his teeth beside Arthur, chalking his hands, still not noticing. Eames smiling beside the nonplussed security guard at the train station. Eames smiling beside the confused shopkeepers at WHSmith. Eames grinning with exuberant fans. Eames beaming, bent down, cheek pressed to a little boy with his arms raised._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________Arthur sinks about three inches deeper in love with him._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________*_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________He and Arthur have grown exponentially closer in the last week, if that's possible. He touches Arthur the way he wants to, (besides the obvious), and Arthur smiles, and touches him._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________It's almost as if they're in an in-between stage; between lovers and friends. They're treated like a couple, and don't correct those assumptions._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

He feels as though it isn't a case of if, but, maybe, might; it's a case of _when ___.

_____________________*_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_____________________Arthur notices, slowly, that Eames is beginning to falter. He sees how his effort lags, his resolve wavers. He lazes around on the apartment couch as he and Saito go back to the centre to train._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_____________________Arthur is curious, concerned, then seriously worried, then furious._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_____________________All of Eames' talk about determination and spirit. All of his training and all of his life for him to just simply give up. Eames is talented, he's _so, so talented ___. And he's throwing it away at his first real opportunity._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________It goes on for days. Arthur quietly nudges him, hints and jokes. Then he questions lightly. Then Arthur's had enough._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________"Are you coming?"_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________"No, you go. I'm knackered. I might have a nap."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________Arthur grinds his teeth, suddenly unwilling to let it go. "Eames. You need to train."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________"It's fine." He waves._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________"No, it's not fine, Eames." Arthur snaps._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________"This is a real competition. You could get something out of this, but you're just lazing around in here, whilst we're working our asses off! You know how hard this is, why are you giving up? You can't just decide you're not going to get a medal, and that there's no point anymore. You're not even trying! You think you can just wing it, but you can't, Eames._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________Not in Biology exams, not in Olympic gymnastics."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________Eames stands slowly._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________His look of hurt has vanished and has been replaced by deadly calm._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________"What are you saying?"_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________"I'm saying--"_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________"That I'm going to bring the team down? I'm bringing you down?"_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________Arthur falters. "I didn't say that, I meant you need--"_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________"I know what you meant." He answers, and walks out. He slams the door behind him, and the ground seems to shake._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________Saito blows out a breath._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________"That could have went better."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________Arthur stands, frowning, not understanding he weight of what he's just said._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________*_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________Arthur doesn't see Eames until that night. He barges in, cleans up in the bathroom, and flops down into bed._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________"Eames, I--"_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________He throws himself around and pulls a pillow over his head._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________"I don't know why you're so angry."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________He's ignored._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________"I'm not going to apologise, because you needed to hear it."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________Eames huffs violently. He curls around himself._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________"I just want you to try." He whispers. Eames doesn't answer._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________He doesn't sleep well. He is sorry._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________*_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________Arthur sees Eames training. He watches, dejected, and he quietly does his exercises._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________"At least it worked." Saito says._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________Arthur shrugs. That's all he really wanted._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________He trains hard, venting his frustration out on the apparatuses, but when he takes a break, he watches Eames soar as he wraps up his wrists._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________Eames leaves early, as if proving a point._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

* _Live Competitions - SECC Arena, Men's Team Competitions - Final. ___

_______________________Arthur waits for his turn to be called, heart beating in his hands and his legs. He knows his routine inside out, backwards to front. He smooths his CHAPMAN label._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________________This is the last team stage; to determine whether they win a medal. Four of them had qualified to the finals, competing in all events._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________________The final consists of he, Eames and Christopher, as he's beginning to know him. The share the fact that they never got into the 2012 London Olympics, and talk gymnastics._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________________He resolutely doesn't look at Eames, because to do so would throw him off._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________________Every time he does, he aches. It's been two weeks since they've even spoken. He wonders if he's really lost him._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________________It wouldn't be worth it if he has. Nothing would be worth it. Sixteen and a half years of training, working at a dingy diner, failing classes, having no social life, and all it amounts to is a leaden feeling in his gut as he's finally here._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________________He thinks about Eames as he does the high bar. He thinks about his silly laugh when he's not expecting something funny. Like it's shocked out of him. He twists and twirls. He thinks about his eyes. He spins. He stupidly misses them. They've not looked at him in a while._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________________He gathers his momentum and does a triple-back salto dismount, landing on his two feet. He's cheered. He smiles._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________________Then he's off, and he watches the rest of the teams do their routines on the high bar. He still has his other events to do, and his second routine on this._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________________He's doing vault tomorrow. It should make him nervous. He looks over at 1/5th of his team._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________________*_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________________It's a couple of days before they've competed in every event for the team finals. And then suddenly that's it._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________________He hugs the other athletes and grins at Coach, coming over to wrap him up in his arms._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________________He rushes to the stands to find Auntie Mallory, a small measure of normality in this hectic experience. He breathes in her cardigan._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________________*_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________________They win a bronze._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________________*_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_Live Competitions - SECC Arena - Men's Individual All-Round -Qualifying Phase ___.

________________________Arthur is focused, calm. He tries to inspire himself._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________________He thinks about all the cuts and grazes he gained growing up doing the sport. He thinks about Auntie Mallory with her camera phone at every competition. He thinks about the sense of pride and achievement, and worthiness, as he'd perfected a routine, a dismount, an apparatus, won another medal, nationals, championships._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________________The driving force that has been his life seems to have evaporated from his very pores, seeped out of his bones and left him._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________________All because of Eames. All because Eames is infuriating and nauseating and agonising to even think about._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________________They call out the scores. He's made it to the finals._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________________So have Eames and Saito._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________________He feels a rising hysteria claw it's way up his throat. Everything had been turned upside down and inside out. He doesn't want to compete anymore. He wants._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________________He wants him back._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________________*_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________________They head back up to the hotel, and have an early night. Finals tomorrow._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________________Arthur brushes his teeth and splashes water on his face, attempting to calm his frayed nerves. He changes into pyjamas and gets into bed quietly. Eames is already sleeping._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________________Arthur watches his steady, slow breathing. He's turned away from him, hair tousled on top of the pillow. His nose makes a small whistling sound._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________________Arthur watches him for a while. He falls asleep._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

* _Live Competitions - SECC Arena - Men's All-Around Individual -Finals. ___

_________________________Arthur breathes._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________________He pulls himself up and starts his routine._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________________He is clear and calm as he focuses on continuing, mind blank. Then he's done._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________________He watches the other gymnasts, and goes to sit by his team. He was the last to compete._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________________He gulps water and takes a bite of his energy bar. He readjusts his straps._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________________The scores are called out._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________________*_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________________The code of points is possibly the most complex aspect of gymnastics.  
The mark is based on the difficulty of a routine and the execution of the performer._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________________The difficulty score starts at 0.0 and increases with every difficult skill performed._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________________The execution score begins at a 10.0, and the judges deduct for errors in performance such as a fall off the apparatus or a step on the landing of a dismount._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________________In this system, there is theoretically no limit to the score a gymnast can achieve._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________________The top performances in men’s gymnastics right now are receiving scores in the high 15s and low 16s._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________________In all-around individual men's gymnastics, the scores a gymnast gains is across all six apparatuses._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________________*_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________________Saito came seventh with a total score of 89.600._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________________Eames came fourth with 90.437._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________________Arthur has a score of 91.779._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________________Second. He's second. He came second. Silver. A silver medal._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________________He stares up at the board, shocked, water bottle in his limp hands, even as there is noise all around him. Second._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________________Saito crushes him. He coughs and laughs. The other guys clap his back and clasp his hands and he starts to laugh, even as he goes to congratulate the gold; an English athlete._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________________Arthur suddenly remembers, and looks for Eames. He's looking at Arthur with a torn expression._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________________Arthur stands, waiting, as Eames pushes over amongst the bustle and stands in front of him._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________________He stares up at Eames looking down at him. Eames grasps his two bony shoulders in his warm hands and squeezes._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________________"Well done." He states, pulling him in for a nanosecond and then moving away._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________________"You worked for it." He murmurs, walking away. Arthur's chest feels as if it's internally bleeding._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________________*_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________________He has interviews and photos and fans and Auntie Mallory and he's so tired he collapses into bed that night with his silver medal still around his neck and his head tuned to Eames._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________________*_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________________The Games have only begun. He's qualified for four individual events; pommel horse, vault, high bar and floor exercise._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________________Saito is on rings and horizontal bars. Eames is pommel._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________________Arthur is concise, patient and controlled competing in the finals. He concentrates on good form; pointed toes, straight arms and legs, a tightness throughout his body. Every movement is planned._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________________He wins two medals; a bronze on floor and silver on vault. He comes fifth in high bar._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________________The Pommel Horse finals are tomorrow._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________________*_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_Live Competitions - SECC Arena - Men's Pommel Horse - Final. ___

__________________________Eames clears his mind of cluttered thoughts, and mounts._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________________Holding a grudge is more difficult than he had imagined. Maybe because it's against _Arthur ___._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

___________________________Every time he thinks about what he said, his teeth grind and his chest hurts. How could he -- think that? That he wasn't even going to try. For the team. For him._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

___________________________He's so angry and stifled and, and angry, he might just explode._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

___________________________He hasn't even apologised. He just. He's. It's so._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

___________________________Falling out with Arthur is like falling off a ten storey building; agonising and ultimately fatal. Falling out of love with Arthur is like falling in space; impossible._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

___________________________Arthur has conquered puppy dog eyes like nobody's business. And yet, he wants more. He wants Arthur to do something, to shout at him and shake him and feel something. He wants a declaration. He wants a reaction._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

___________________________On the Pommel Horse, hefting himself up, his mind is as busy as rush hour traffic. He tries to calm himself down, loosen his muscles, but he's the last on, and all the cameras are pointed at him, and._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

___________________________He remembers what Arthur said._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_What are you doing? Remember I told you, don't think about what you have to do. Just do. ___

____________________________Eames does._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________________Because Arthur was before him, he has the highest score of 15.999. He's got gold._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________________Eames' limbs unwind._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________________He starts clockwise and counter-clockwise spinning, doing full body circles, travelling into moores and spindles._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_What are you going to have on the plane? Maybe we should get something at the airport, they have nicer food. ___

_____________________________He starts to scissor his legs, lifting up to a handstand and spinning back around. The stands cheer, and he laughs._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_Don't be a show off, Eames, it's hardly attractive. ___

______________________________He grins and does a pirouette to flair, lifting up to do flair handstands, spinning around and around and around._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________________He executes a spindle flair, and imagines that the bars are a sidewalk and he's street dancing. He travels along the leather horse, whirling his legs, adding in a unique flip around for the hell of it._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________________The crowds go wild, and he laughs, and he lifts up to a full handstand, join his legs and jump off, dismounts with his two feet and stands still._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________________The crowd are deafening, and he holds up his his both arms and beams for all his worth._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________________Suddenly something hits him, a solid, warm weight, and arms lock around his neck as legs are thrown around his waist._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________________"I'M SORRY FOR WHAT I SAID BUT I'M NOT SORRY I SAID IT BECAUSE IT MADE YOU DO THAT!" Arthur yells, crushing him._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________________Eames kisses him. He just grasps his small body and kisses him desperately, slotting their mouths together. Arthur kisses back, moving his hands into his hair, and then their teeth clack and their chins bump, and they both part laughing._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________________Someone else slams into him, and Eames laughs again as Saito pulls them in and clanks their heads together. Coach is suddenly there. He pulls away and shouts laughingly, "I haven't even seen my score yet!"_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________________Arthur gapes at him. "Eames!" He shouts. "You won gold!"_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________________Eames stops. He stares, shocked, as Arthur points to the scoreboard._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________________16.092_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________________He scored the highest. He's won gold. Arthur is silver._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________________He's the Pommel Horse Champion. Of Men's Gymnastics. He gapes, and the other athletes pile onto him and cheer._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________________His heart stutters, and he untangles himself rushes over to the stands. He knows his mum and dad are right at the front._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________________His mum holds her arms out as he runs and he's enveloped. He starts to tear up as she cries into his sweaty scalp, and another pair of arms reach for him._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________________His dad clasps his face and shouts something that he can't hear._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________________The crowds are too loud, and he's mouthing urgently, so Eames drags him closer and listens as he shouts, "I love!" And he mouths 'you'._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________________Eames does cry then. It's very embarrassing and emotional and he just hugs them both._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________________But then he sprints over to Arthur, and gathers him up in his arms. "Arthur!" He shouts. "You were meant to win gold!"_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________________"No, Eames." Arthur says into his ear. "You were."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________________*_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________________Interviewer: So! It's been a roller coster for you both. Arthur, we really thought you had gold, there! Are you happy with your silver?_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________________Arthur: Happier than if I'd won gold. It feels as if I have._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________________Eames: *blushes*._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________________Interviewer: Well, there's clearly a bit of love in the air. Explain that to us, because to the cameras it looked like rivalry for a while._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________________Eames: Well. We had an argument. I mean. We weren't together then, so everything was a bit. Charged._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________________Arthur: Charged?_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________________Eames: I'm going to regret this._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________________Arthur: *laughs*_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________________Interviewer: *laughs*. Don't worry, we won't bite. I have to say, though, that kiss._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________________Arthur and Eames: *groans*_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________________*_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________________It's the closing ceremony._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________________Arthur will be sad to leave. Scotland will always hold a part of his heart; for renewing his love of gymnastics after a wavering moment, for introducing him to wonderful people, and for giving him Eames._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________________They've been interviewed the most out of all the gymnasts. They replay the kiss. every. single. time._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________________It's mortifying._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________________The fans go wild for them as they enter the talk show. They wave and duck. The hosts comment on how they seem to be more loved than the British gymnasts._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________________They also seem to make a game out of who can get them the most flustered._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________________"Arthur!" Eames rushes over._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________________It's dark in Hampden Park, and their medals glint over their fleeces._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________________Arthur has on his five; his team bronze and floor bronze, as well his three silvers; all around individual, vault and pommel horse. They weigh heavily on his neck, in the good way._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________________Eames is holding a bunch of glow sticks, Saito behind him smiling._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________________"Look! You snap and then shake!" He demonstrates excitedly. Eames in the glow of neon green is irresistible. He doesn't have to resist anymore._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________________Arthur leans up and kisses the side of his mouth. Eames blinks and then grins dopily._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________________"Cut it out, there are children here." Saito admonishes. They roll their eyes._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________________Arthur would say, with confidence, that this night is the best of his life. There's music, and his friends, the atmosphere alive with excitement._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________________And Eames dances with him, his body pressing warmly, his arms holding him, swaying._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________________Arthur only catches glimpses of his face through various glowing colours, and he's grinning, his gold medal shining, nose brushing Arthur's hair, his eyes bright._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________________*_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________________"Give him a kiss!" Someone shouts as they're talking to a commentator._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________________Arthur laughs, and Arthur does._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. So.
> 
> I want to say, firstly, that everyone on this site has been incredible. You hear a lot of horror stories about people on the internet, but truthfully, you all have been kinder and lovelier than most people I know.
> 
> This has been a part of my life, and now it's finished, and I want I thank anyone reading/commenting for giving me the confidence and motivation to write! 
> 
> I can't honestly believe it's over. I had so many ideas and deleted scenes for this it seemed at first like it would last forever. That's part of the reason I made it a series. But I'm glad I managed to cut it down! I can't promise any updates on this soon, but I can promise I will come back to it, because I'm currently writing other fics for another fandom.
> 
> However, this will always hold a piece of my heart, because of the feedback and compliments.
> 
> I wanted to add some songs that helped me in my creative process, it seemed only fair:
> 
> The Narrative - Eyes Closed  
> The Vamps - Somebody To You  
> Rudimental - Feel The Love  
> Prides - Messiah  
> Primal Scream - Movin' On Up
> 
> [ Here's also the video of what I imagined Eames to be doing in the Pommel Horse Finals ](https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=fRmHJKlQmmw)

**Author's Note:**

> Any comments, criticism or suggestions are so very much appreciated and welcome. Don't be shy!
> 
> I'm also Peasantaries on [Tumblr](https://peasantaries.tumblr.com/), [ Twitter](https://twitter.com/peasantaries), and [ Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/peasantaries/)! Come over and talk to me! I'll never bite <33


End file.
